


Whatever Happened To

by TwinEnigma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU for Season 2, Alien Keith (Voltron), Alien Worlds, Alteans are terrifying actually, BAMF Allura, BAMF Pidge | Katie Holt, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Freedom Fighters, GFY, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Homesick Lance (Voltron), How do you take down an empire anyway, Hunk is secretly a tactical genius, Keith has issues, Lance (Voltron) in Denial, Lance is the BIGGEST NERD, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Pidge is Lance's competition for BIGGEST NERD, Pidge is smol and will fight you, Rebels, Shiro has PTSD, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Space Mom Allura (Voltron), Team as Family, Teenage Dorks, Thace is so Done, Where the heck is Lotor, foster kid Keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinEnigma/pseuds/TwinEnigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking down an empire is tricky business, especially when you haven't the slightest clue where to start and you don't even know where home is anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. moving on

**Author's Note:**

> Join me in my new/old fandom hell.

The Command Center of the Castle of Lions has, more or less, become an informal meeting hall for the surviving Alteans and the Paladins alike.  They sit where they are most comfortable, under the radiant umbrella of projected star charts, and they consider their next move.  They’ve been at it for hours and there’s no end in sight.

It sets Keith’s teeth on edge, honestly.  By now, even Lance has noticed that he’s grinding his jaw.

“This is _stupid,”_ he complains at last, pushing off the wall.  “I’m going to go train.”

Shiro looks at him, first in surprise and then in that weird mildly _disappointed_ way that digs right into every part of his brain that is still foster-kid to the core.  And he’s not alone: Allura’s expression is similar, if slightly off in some little way that has nothing to do with her face and everything to do with the little ways in which she doesn’t completely understand human nuance.   Disappointment is a reminder he’s not good at this family interaction crap.

Keith grimaces and clenches his teeth.

 _Team_ , he meant _team_. Family, where the heck did that come from?

“Keith’s got a point,” Lance pipes up, effectively injecting himself in between Keith and them.  He spreads his arms in a wide, dramatic gesture.  “Look, you know what?  The universe is, like, _huge._ We keep going at this like we have and we’ll never get home.  And I, for one, _really_ want to see my family again at some point in my lifetime.  Preferably before I’m some old geezer.”

It’s the elephant in the room.

It’s the _same_ elephant that’s been dogging them all since they reunited, since they started to get a true inkling of how absolutely insanely huge a mission they’d chosen to undertake.  It keeps coming back, like a zero grav bounce maneuver in a corridor – just enough momentum to hit the ceiling, but not enough to stop you from hitting the floor, too.

The Galra Empire has been conquering and draining the universe for _ten_ _thousand_ _years_.  It stretches over a vastness that the scientists of Earth had called unknowable – no, _unfathomable_ in its greatness.  And here they are, the five chosen Paladins, their Lions, and the survivors of a once-great civilization, going world to world and system by system, one by one, to liberate them.

Off to the side, Pidge chews her lip and adjusts her glasses, her expression pinched.  She’s probably run the numbers, no doubt trying to narrow down the search for her family, so she would know best that the odds are not stacked in their favor.

Truth is, at this point, they’ll probably die of old age before getting anywhere near the barest fraction of their goal.

Still, _no one_ likes having the obvious pointed out.

Better Lance than me, Keith thinks mulishly. Lance, at least, has a way of softening the blow and burying it beneath his sense of humor which the others find easier to handle.

Keith – well, he _knows_ he can be abrasive, but it’s not his fault. They don’t get it.

“Maybe we’re looking at this wrong,” Hunk suggests. He carefully holds up the latest gadget he’s been tinkering with. “We’re so busy looking at the forest that we can’t see the trees.”

Both Allura and Coran tilt their heads as they consider the Earth idiom. It’s a look the Paladins see all too often when Earth idioms come into play. No doubt, it’ll come back to haunt them in a mangled demi-Altean form later.

They _try_. They do.

Hunk turns the device over in his hands. “Think of this as the Galra Empire.  As a whole, it’s functional unit, right?”

He tugs gently with both hands and it comes apart, sliding to reveal the intricate guts. “But, if you look underneath the surface, it all depends on its components. Without them…”

Hunk pauses, pulling a small screwdriver from his pocket, and touches it to something Keith can’t even see and the whole device sparks with an angry puff. It then sags, completely dead, and Hunk sheepishly gathers it together again.  “See?”

There is a pause and a wry smile breaks on Shiro’s face.  “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Disrupt the infrastructure and let it collapse under its own weight,” Allura states in approval, visibly perking up. “Excellent suggestion, Hunk.”

“Helloooooo,” Lance calls out from his seat, leaning forward. “How do we _know_ what targets to hit? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re kinda lacking on intel here.”

“And we’ve _already_ tried hacking their ships,” Keith adds, hoping his tone carries exactly how strongly he feels about that last utter _disaster_ that almost got them all killed by Zarkon. They’d spent _weeks_ picking themselves up after that mess and he’d almost lost...

“Perhaps that was a bit premature,” Allura cedes and her smile turns that cross between cruel and mischievous that honestly gives Keith the creeps. “Maybe it’s time we tried something a little more… _discreet_.”

This time, it’s Shiro’s expression that grows stormy and every muscle in his body goes rigid. “Princess, you’re _not_ going undercover again.”

Allura rises, challenge in her eyes. She’s not afraid to sacrifice herself for the universe, Voltron, or even for _them_. She’s already proven that and she’ll fight him on this, Keith knows it. But Shiro’s _not_ wrong either, even if his reasoning is probably not what anyone might think it is.

“Maybe she doesn’t have to,” Pidge says and, just like that, the air of confrontation is broken.

Nice save, Pidge, Keith thinks.  And it would be Pidge, too, who gets Shiro. She’s like him, after all, and Keith, too, after a fashion, even if they are coming from different places with it. And they, at least, remember when they lost the people they cared about the first time. He doesn’t – can’t. He was too young or too traumatized or maybe both.

He remembers Shiro though.

“I’ve been thinking,” Pidge explains, folding her hands into a steeple. The light of stars glints off her glasses, obscuring her eyes, but her lips are pressed thin. “It was awfully convenient for Zarkon’s shield to shut down when it did, don’t you think?”

“Shut down?” Allura’s brows knot in question. She’s not the only one: things had happened so fast and honestly it was still a bit of a blur.

Zarkon's taunt - _you fight like a Galra soldier_ \- burns in his ears and Keith swallows hard, gripping his knife.

“Wait what,” Lance manages. “What’re you saying? Someone shut it _off_?”

“Precisely,” Pidge responds, pushing up her glasses on her nose.  “I’ve finally finished analyzing the feed from our lions. That shield was still oscillating at a _stable_ rate. There’s no way it went down on its own. Which means…”

“...There’s a traitor in Zarkon’s ranks,” Shiro concludes.  He rubs his chin thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. “Someone pretty well placed, too. I doubt just anyone could get to the shield controls. We need to find them.”

Coran blinks, drawing back in his chair.  His mustache twitches as he stops and actually thinks about it. “My word!”

Allura sits, gathering the long sleeves of her dress, and presses her lips in a thin, concerned frown. “I don’t like this. What would one of Zarkon’s own High Command have to gain by letting us go?”

She’s right, of course, and therein lays the rub.

“We’re not going to find out just by sitting around,” Pidge admonishes them, standing and gathering up her laptop. “And, who knows, maybe whoever this is isn’t operating alone.”

“So, what?  Like there’s a Rebel Alliance?” Lance asks.  He almost rolls out of his chair, this loping, easy movement forward that puts him easily on the balls of his feet, and he’s grinning real stupidly. Pidge gives him a look and snorts, turning up her nose at him, while Hunk grins.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Keith states. “We don’t even know if there’s more than one person involved.”

Lance gives him an odd look, the same sort of odd look that he gave him when he needled him about a team cheer, and Keith feels like he missed something again.

He misses a lot of things, he knows that. It’s not his fault, not really. He’s just missing more than most. He’d probably lost it all with the memories about everything _before_ foster.

At least, for now, he’s not missing _them_.

 


	2. signs of resistance

Pidge is talking about Earth – old Earth history, that is – as they explore the outpost on Typ’ff Prita. The locals, a thick stocky race that resembles a cross between armadillo, crocodiles and ambulatory boulders, pay them little mind. Off-world traders and merchants amble up and down the street, coming to and from the spaceport. A local spiritualist calls from the street corner in clicks, hisses and whirs. Somewhere, in the distance, there’s a bellowing warble (someone just won a round of H’tpha according to their Altean guides – space poker, according to Shiro).

Typ’ff Prita is on the edge of Galra space, but only just, and has changed more hands over the millennia than anyone has bothered to keep track of. The buildings here are made of dense clay and stacked in a honeycomb fashion, one on top the other. Every level rotates 30 degrees to the right of the one below it. Imperial Galra propaganda posters and holoscrawl plasters the main street and sky, but it’s clearly outdated and glitches frequently. The posters are fading and peeling, half-covered in graffiti they can’t read (Allura assures them it’s nothing complimentary) and flyers for local shops and markets (Hunk and Coran are already deeply involved in making a market list).

Shiro is nodding politely as Pidge rambles on, but his stiff posture and the way he scans the horizon tells another story: he’s riding on the razor’s edge, like he expects to be attacked at any moment. Lance is clearly bored, his eyes wandering, and Keith wonders how long it’ll be before his feet follow and they’ll be forced to bail him out. Allura, however, is intently listening to Pidge’s description of the Roman Empire’s rise and fall.

“Eventually, the Vandals managed to corner Rome between Carthage and the Huns,” Pidge explains, holding her hands apart, each standing in for one of the two forces. “And it was all over for them. The Roman Empire never recovered. It completely fell apart.”

Allura hummed in consideration.  “And you suspect that this same pattern applies to the Galra, correct?”

“Well, yeah, it makes sense, statistically speaking,” Pidge shrugs.  “Maintaining an empire of this size with this kind of aggressive territorial expansion - I’m actually surprised we _haven’t_ run into any rebels yet.”

“I’m not,” Hunk says, dropping back a little to match their stride. His expression sours a little. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, but if I wasn’t a Paladin with a super cool lion, I don’t think I’d want to take on the Galra either.”

Lance rolls his eyes, giving Hunk a long-suffering look.  “But you totally _did_.”

“I guess…?” Hunk manages, a bit baffled, and then shakes it off.  “That’s totally different though! Ordinary people don’t just go hopping off to save the universe from evil space empires!”

Keith refrains from pointing out that that’s _exactly_ what they did. Even if it was, _technically_ , not on purpose - at least, at _first_ , anyways.

Lance, however, has no problem doing it for him.                                   

Except…

“That’s because we’re the _Chosen_ Paladins,” Lance says, spinning dramatically into a strange pose, one hand to the sky.

It’s something Keith’s seen before but can’t place, but he’s more distracted by the way _chosen_ ripples through his being. His hand, the one that had been burned at the quintessence refinery, twitches.

Lance dramatically poses again, jabbing his hand to the sky a little more aggressively.  “The Chosen Paladins? Hello?  Come _on_ , guys,” he whines, sagging. “Don’t tell me you’ve never watched Super Magic Knights Vehicle Go!”

Hunk, bewildered, shakes his head in the negative.

Pidge sighs loudly.

Allura’s eyes dart to Shiro, looking for some kind of explanation for the Weird Earth Thing.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at Lance.

“Isn’t that a kid’s cartoon?” Keith asks, at last.

Lance sags even further and then straightens to his full height like a shot, completely aghast. “It’s _not_ just for kids!”

He then pauses and stares at Keith like he’s grown a second head. “You watch _cartoons?_ ”

“Of course not!” Keith snaps, bristling inwardly. “I’m not a kid!”

But it didn’t mean he didn’t know what it was. Some of the other foster kids used to watch it. Cadets, too. He’d just… never seen a point to it. It wasn’t even _accurate_. If anyone tried half that stuff without something like their Lions, they’d be an ashy smear on the planet surface – nothing more than burning space junk and burned limbs and…

Something catches in his throat and his hand automatically goes to the knife he’s always carried with him. He’s only distantly aware of Shiro tensing at his movement; it’s like he’s floating outside his body and nothing is quite _right_. His fingers close around the wrapped cloth of the hilt and the world snaps back into place.

“The market’s this way!” Coran calls from up ahead. He waves his arm frantically, bouncing in place. “Come on, stop dragging your weirnaks!”

Shiro relaxes fractionally and they all turn, starting towards the older Altean. Then, Pidge pauses, looks back at Lance and pushes her glasses up with a feral grin: “Besides, Lance, it’s an _anime_.”

Lance just gives her a withering look and then makes a face, tipping his head side to side quickly as he mouths her words in pantomime of the Green Paladin.

Keith rolls his eyes.

Honestly, Lance can be such a kid. At least _Pidge_ has an excuse.

“Say, guys, how are we supposed to get in contact with these rebels anyway?” Hunk asks.

“ _If_ they exist,” Pidge corrects him.

“Right, _if_ ,” Hunk agrees, nodding.

Shiro’s expression wavers and pinches. “I don’t remember hearing about any rebel cells, but…” he pauses, shaking his head, and deliberately starts scanning the rooftops again.

 _I don’t remember a lot_ remains unsaid.

Or maybe he doesn’t want to. Keith can’t quite figure out when it’s one or the other, only that something’s _wrong_ with Shiro and it’s not his Galra-tech prosthetic arm – well, _most_ days, anyways.

Sometimes, Shiro has bad days. Everyone knows that. 

PTSD is what Pidge terms it. Keith never asks her why she knows what it is or why she was expecting to need to. There really isn’t a need to ask. There are times he wonders if he has it too.

“Guys, _guys_ , they’re a _secret rebel alliance_ ,” Lance says, rushing to catch up. “They’re not just going to be like _hello I’m with the rebellion!_ ”

Some of the traders and locals turn their heads to look at them and Shiro gives Lance a warning glare. In an instant, the whole mood of the group shifts. Everyone’s hands are on their bayards and small dark arcs of energy jump between the fingers of Shiro’s artificial hand. Allura and Coran both shift subtly, losing some of that delicate, almost-awkward space-elf quality in a way that Keith has trouble understanding fully but it’s something he _knows_ , like the way he was drawn to Blue’s hiding place. It’s something that drags nails across some part of his brain and sets the skin on the back of his neck to prickling even though that sense of a threat isn’t aimed at him. He bares his teeth in the direction of the crowd and glares, both his hands on his weapons.

It’s that shift in the Alteans that has the traders and locals turning away, in the end.

And if he’s being honest, Keith can’t blame them: when it comes down to it, Alteans are kind of _terrifying._ Allura is quite capable of throwing Shiro like a sack of potatoes with _one hand_ and Shiro’s both the tallest of them and pretty heavy to boot. And both she and Coran have proven capable of enduring things that would have probably killed any one of them that tried.

How then did the Galra succeed in wiping all but two of them out?

Where was the resistance? Hadn’t anyone fought back?

Typ’ff Prita’s wind picks up, howling through the alleyways and honeycomb buildings, and, ahead, Coran curses. A storm is fast closing on the horizon and they’ve only just reached the edge of the marketplace.  Merchants rush to close up shop and locals let out hisses and loud clicks as they hunker down, curling into rough, stony spirals.

Keith tastes ozone between his teeth and when he looks up, it’s Shiro who has stopped and faces them. Shiro’s eyes flicker with the glowing yellow of an active Lion and when he’s back to himself, he says, “It’s a bad storm: large thunderheads, strong winds.”

Black Lion is the sky and the storm, a spirit of freedom, and as long as it knows the skies and freedom, so does Shiro.

Allura looks away, quickly scanning the graffitied and poster-covered sides of the nearby buildings, and then beckons them to follow. “This way.”

The team exchanges quick glances and follows her lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You must trigger a Bawehk to win the round in H'tpha. Three Bawehks out of five are necessary to claim the betting pot.
> 
> Super Magic Knights Vehicle Go is the Best ever, according to Lance. Pidge thinks the dub sucks.


	3. dinner plans

The inn Allura leads them to is not very comfortable by far. The octagonal rooms are only barely large enough to accommodate off-world visitors and, without more local currency, they’re unable to score either a second or larger room. Instead, they huddle uncomfortably inside a room that never really had humans or Alteans in mind and try to ignore the howling winds rattling the casements.

“Be grateful,” Allura tells them, “The other room available is typically rented to Hbklikkda.”

“Ten-ban long and a stench like a naur bog,” Coran explains. He holds his hands wide to demonstrate the size and then proceeds to try and explain the shape as something wormlike but larger and significantly less harmless. “Nasty fellows, really.”

Lance just narrows his eyes shrewdly and goes, “So… basically _Jabba the Hutt_ with fangs. Okay.”

“You are aware this is the real world, _right_?” Pidge asks him, “And not _Star Wars_?”

“Says the girl flying a giant magical robot lion that is part of an even bigger magical robot to save the universe from the _evil_ Empire,” Lance says, smugly.

When it’s put like that, what they’re doing really _does_ sound ridiculous.

“He’s got you there, Pidge,” Hunk remarks.

Pidge just groans, slumping forward until her head is resting flat on the octagonal table. Shiro is trying not to smile and failing horribly. Allura is less shy about it, but she, like Keith, probably doesn’t have a clue what Lance is talking about. It must have shown on his face, though, because Shiro is clearing his throat and trying to sit up marginally straighter.

“All _Star Wars_ jokes aside, we do have a very real situation to deal with, Lance,” Shiro states, “So, maybe calm down on the jokes for a bit please?”

Lance looks scandalized. “Hey, man, I’m like 95% jokes. That’s like cutting off my…” He pauses, his eyes darting to Shiro’s right arm, and then he slumps into his seat with a mumbled ‘sorry.’

An awkward silence follows, shattered only by the rattle of wind and crash of thunder.

 _“Well_ , this is awkward,” Hunk announces, trying to break the silence. “Some storm, huh? Maybe we should think about what we’re doing for dinner, since it looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while and I don’t even want to _think_ about what resembles room service here.”

Coran and Allura exchange a look, one that is both extremely telling and highly unnerving.

“That’s probably for the best,” Allura says at last.  “Coran?”

“Fortunately, I brought emergency Paladin rations,” Coran announces, trying to stand. His head scrapes the low ceiling as he rifles through his bag for the so-called rations and tries to hand them out. “High in nutrition and packed with everything young Paladins and their guardians need! Now, Paladins should _always_ carry extra rations. One never knows when one might need them!”

Keith opens his immediately and looks up. “This is just the green stuff.”

It’s in a bar, sure, and a slightly different shade of green but he knows that smell anywhere.

Everyone groans and flops backwards dramatically.

“That’s it, we’re going to that market or we’re gonna die trying,” Hunk says, sitting up. He hasn’t looked this determined since Balmora.

Not that Keith can blame him: there’s only so much green goo one can take and, frankly, he’s sick of it, too.

“Seconded,” Pidge calls from the floor.

“Thirded,” Lance immediately chimes in.

“When did we become a democracy?” Shiro asks wryly, although he doesn’t look too keen on the green rations either. “Keith, up to you, buddy. Take out – yay or nay?”

Keith inwardly winces a little, his hand going to his knife again, and then he nods. “Yay.”

“What is take out?” Allura asks politely.

The Paladins exchange glances.

“It’s when you go get food…”

“Yeah and sometimes it’s delivered…”

“No, that’s _delivery_.”

“Same thing – _anyway…_ ”

“It is _not_ the same thing!”

“It’s an Earth thing.”

Both Alteans look totally overwhelmed at the barrage of explanation from the Paladins talking over each other and nitpicking the finer points of what constitutes proper Earthling take out. Shiro raises his hands, sheepishly smiling as he makes a gesture for them to stop and calm down.

“I miss noodles,” Keith says, “And Korean barbecue.”

“I miss Ahi poke,” Hunk pipes up. He frowns a little, sighing at the green bar.

“Chocolate,” Pidge adds. “Pizza and chocolate.”

“Mom,” Lance mumbles. “Mom ‘n everyone’s probably so worried.”

And just like that any thought of food is soured completely.

Silence descends again and this time it’s a much heavier, more somber silence.

“Has anyone thought about what happens when it’s all over?”  Hunk asks quietly, leaning against the table. He pokes the ration bar listlessly. “Like, say we succeed, right? Say we take down Zarkon – what happens to the rest of the Galra empire?”

“Tch, let it fall,” Pidge says bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. She fidgets angrily, pushing herself back and forward off the edge of the table with her foot, and scowls.

Shiro gives her a look of deep sympathy and then quietly examines his right hand, flexing the artificial joints.

“I don’t quite follow,” Allura says. Her hands remain folded in her lap, but her fingers clench at the pastel fabric and she’s gone stiff as a board.

“Well, what I’m saying is…” Hunk squirms under the attention.

“Who fills the vacuum?” Keith guesses.

“Yeah, that,” Hunk sounds relieved.

Allura blinks and she too appears to relax, sitting straighter, but not _stiffer_. “Oh, _oh_ ,” she says. “Hopefully, no one.”

“Well, perhaps Prince Lotor,” Coran states absently, stroking his mustache.

Silence descends on the room for a third time, but this time from shock.

“What?” Allura asks, her face wan.

“What?” Pidge stops fidgeting, slamming her hands down on the table.

“What?” Hunk’s eyes dart between Coran, Allura and Pidge.

“ _What?_ ” Shiro stares, eyebrows raised in horror or shock or both.

“Woah, woah, _hold up_ , no one said _anything_ about a prince!” Lance states, sitting up.

“I just _did_ ,” Coran adds helpfully. His mustache twitches.

Keith glares at him.

“Okay, so who is this guy?” Shiro asks, sitting up a little more purposefully.

“And _why_ are we _just_ hearing about him?” Pidge adds, giving Coran a death glare.

Coran does one of those weird full-body flinches he’s so fond of, sputtering something about his memory and hypersleep being a dodgy business, and then slides into what everyone likes to call his stuffy brass pose. He coughs into his fist, closing his eyes, and explains: “He disappeared before the war and, until now, I had no cause to consider that he might even still be alive.”

“ _Zarkon’s_ still alive,” Pidge points out waspishly.

“He is not half-Altean, like the prince,” Coran admonishes, aiming a pointed look at her. He pauses, deliberately looking away. “It was before the war, before Zarkon began his abominable campaign. It was a different time, a happier time. The Paladins of Old had come together to defeat such terrible darkness, one such as we had never before seen and I pray we never see the like of again. They were each from different worlds and, as you have learned, Zarkon was among their number, as the former Black Lion Paladin. In those happy times, our worlds had long been allies. His marriage to one of our own was intended as a symbol of that enduring friendship.”

Keith finds it difficult to imagine a time when the Galra Empire had ever been friendly with _anyone_ , let alone the Alteans, and by the looks on the faces of his fellow Paladins, it’s obvious he’s not alone.

Allura, however, just looks so terribly _sad_ and it’s painfully clear that this wasn’t a war between rival powers like they’d initially believed, but a devastating betrayal by once very close allies.

“Alas, it was not to be,” Coran continues. “Shortly before the war, the prince disappeared from the public eye completely. Officially, he’d been sent away for further education in Galran statecraft and military matters. There were rumors, of course, but after the war began and reports of Zarkon’s atrocities became known to us, we had reason to suspect that there may have been a far more sinister reason for his disappearance. While there have always been those of Altean descent in the Galra Empire, none were ever so highly placed as the prince. If they suspected his loyalties were at all divided between Altea and Galra...”

Hunk visibly winces, leaning back in his seat.

Lance looks away, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pidge doesn’t appear surprised in the least.

Shiro looks a bit ill, his whole frame tensing as he grips the table hard.

“You believe the worst, don’t you, Coran?” Allura asks quietly.

Coran does not meet her eyes. “Yes, princess. I am sorry. I did not wish to cause you further distress.”

Once more, Allura’s hands twist the fabric of her skirts, but this time her expression is more lost than mournful. Had she once known this prince?

Keith frowns, pulling out his knife and fiddling with it. He knew this was a bad subject to bring up. Nothing good ever came from bringing up the past.

Shiro draws in a long breath as he leans back in his seat and looks up at the ceiling, nodding. “Okay, okay, so we can scratch _him_ off the list.”

“No, we can’t,” Pidge states sharply, “Not until we know for sure.”

“She’s _right_ ,” Keith adds, looking at Coran. “You said it yourself, you heard _rumors_. What if he’s sitting out there, with a whole fleet, just waiting for his old man to bite it?”

Lance raises his eyebrows and then sits straight up, grinning. “Wait, what if that’s _exactly_ what we need?”

“What?” Hunk asks, staring at him in surprise. “How’s that going to – oh, _ohh, yeah._ I gotcha!”

Allura frowns. “I do _not_ see the advantage there.”

“Ten thousand years is an _awfully_ long time for Junior to be waiting for a shot at the throne and the old man doesn’t look like he’s giving it up anytime soon,” Lance announces with a smug grin. “If this prince is still out there somewhere, he _might_ be willing to give us a hand.”

“Then what?” Allura demands archly, her gaze one of imperious fury. “What if he turns out to be worse than his father? Hm? What then, Blue Paladin?”

Lance slumps in his seat: it seems he hadn’t considered that.

“Then we take him out, too,” Pidge states firmly. Her hands clench into fists on the table, a clear indication that she’s roaring for a fight. And Pidge _can_ fight, make no mistake, and fight _dirty_.

“If he’s alive, and that’s a big if,” Shiro begins, cutting off any further response, “We need to know where he stands before we do anything, is that clear?”

Pidge slouches, glaring moodily at him. Her hands are still clenched.

Lance shrugs, but nods.

Hunk gives a thumbs-up.

Keith snorts. “We’ve got to _find_ him first. Needle in a proverbial haystack, anyone?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “No, _really_ , Keith? I thought we’d just sneak around and find him hiding in a shack somewhere.”

“That doesn’t even make _sense_ ,” Keith fires back. “Why would a Galra prince be in a shack?”

“Your _face_ doesn’t make sense,” Lance says, smirking. “And, besides, we found _you_ in a shack.”

“You didn’t find me, you invited yourselves along on _my_ rescue mission! And it was _not_ a shack, it was a base of operations!”

“It was totally a _shack_.”

Pidge hides her face against the table and Hunk groans, flopping backwards.

“What is a haystack?” Coran whispers to Shiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Hbklikkda shares far more in common with the average Arrakeen spice worm than a Hutt.


	4. Halcyon Days

Space yawns above them, the endless black maw of the universe gaping wide as they break atmosphere and plunge into the first of a string of portals designed to confuse anyone who might try to follow (space pirates, apparently, are a Real Thing That Actually Happens this far out and, by Coran’s reckoning, they make Rolo look positively harmless). The castle thrums with each jump, humming under their feet, and Keith can’t help but feel a little bit sick. He is quietly grateful when the jump cycle is over and they resume normal cruising speed. Typ’ff Prita’s sun is a mote of light little bigger than a grain of sand in the distance and barely discernible from the other eight hundred local stars nearby it on the display.

Lance wanders off almost as soon as they’re done, yawning dramatically. He hadn’t slept a wink planet-side.

Then again, no one really had: those beds were certainly not made for humans or Alteans in the _slightest_.

Lance is followed by Coran, who also excuses himself for some much-needed shut-eye.

Pidge and Hunk, meanwhile, had become deeply involved in a conversation about mathematics and something about drive mechanics that honestly made Keith’s head hurt just listening to it. They walk towards the door together, no doubt on their way to their favorite workshop. Pidge prattles on, animatedly gesturing as she tells a joke that makes _no_ sense whatsoever to anyone _not_ them, and Hunk laughs merrily.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith catches a glimpse of Shiro and has to do a double-take.

Shiro is watching Pidge and Hunk and he looks like he’s on the verge of tears, even though he is smiling. He notices Keith looking at him and blinks, immediately covering his face with his hand and wiping away his tears. “It’s nothing,” he says, sniffling. “I’m okay.  I’m _okay_.”

It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is Keith and it _hurts_.

Allura gives Shiro a soft, worried look, and then her face falls as he quickly walks away. At the door, Shiro pauses, looking back at them apologetically, and then he, too, disappears into the depths of the castle.

Keith grips his knife hard and grinds his teeth to damp down on the anger that follows the ache in his chest.

They were brothers once. Then _Kerberos_ happened.

 “You should get some rest, Keith,” Allura says at last. She turns with a heavy sigh, heading towards the windows and gives him a warm smile. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Keith shrugs, absently.

He couldn’t sleep now, even if he wanted to. He’s still hurt and angry; and he can feel the flames of his Lion feeding on those feelings and growing even stronger. Idly, he wonders if his eyes are flashing Lion-bright.

If they are, Allura has not noticed.

She is now sitting on the sill of the window, gazing out at the darkness of space with a distant expression. Her hand presses against the glass, the dark skin standing out starkly against the vast beyond.

She looks lost, alone and terribly sad.

It’s a feeling he knows intimately. And before he even knows it, he’s moved to join her, sitting on the other end of the sill.

The Red Lion is a creature of instinct and its Paladin is much the same.

“I knew him,” the princess says suddenly, “Prince Lotor, I mean. We used to play together as children.”

She pauses, raising her head as she sifts through her memories, and then frowns, her eyebrows knotted in annoyance. “I can’t remember what he looked like. It’s been so long. My father might have-”

She trails off, grief plainly written on her face.

“It’s ok,” Keith says, abruptly. “I don’t remember my parents.”

He had intended to make her feel better, but instead he now feels terribly awkward, like he’s crossed some kind of weird social line that he shouldn’t have and now his skin feels like it’s practically _crawling_ with anxiety.

His fingers wind around the hilt of his knife and he barrels into an explanation: “I’m an orphan. There was an accident – I don’t know exactly, it’s not – my memories are messed up, ok? I can’t remember a lot of stuff from when I was a kid. I used to get flashes – little bits, like impressions, you know, of my parents and stuff – but I don’t anymore, not really. So I understand, I mean, _not remembering_ \- that’s what I mean.”

Allura’s hand gently closes over his arm and his tongue practically locks up in his mouth, preventing him from uttering another word.  “Keith,” she smiles kindly, “It’s all right. I understand. Thank you.”

And she does. He can feel it, like he feels when she and Coran shift in subtle ways, and it’s the second time he’s ever felt anyone really understood him since he was younger.

Shiro was the first.

“Why don’t we try something?” Allura suggests, “I’ll tell you about the prince and you tell me what you _do_ remember. That way, we can help each other try to keep those memories alive.”

Keith gives her an odd look. He fidgets with the knife, weighing the options.  Sharing his past isn’t exactly something he’s comfortable with.

After the accident, he’d been shuffled straight into the foster system. It was crowded and he had a problem staying put, so he was moved around, given labels like tough case and defiant and all kinds of other things that scream of trouble. Shiro’s was the first place in a long time that bothered to really try giving him a reason to stick around long enough to get comfy and Shiro himself was probably the coolest older brother anyone could have ever imagined. Keith hadn’t even thought people like him could _exist_ before then, much less that he’d ever feel at home with any foster family.

But he had and it had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. With Shiro's family, he’d even managed to get the scores necessary to shoot up the pipeline to the Galaxy Garrison before the Garrison even had time to figure out he had a squirrel’s nest of issues and something drawing him in his head that never let him settle – they figured that out pretty quick _after_ Kerberos. He knows _now_ that it was Blue that was calling him, but back then he hadn’t known anything but that need to be somewhere not where he was and that Shiro had helped him ignore it for a while.

Without Shiro around to give him a reason to stay, Blue’s calls were impossible to ignore and Keith had washed out in a rather spectacularly disastrous way.

He’d also punched the Commander – but that was honestly _very_ much deserved and he’s still not even _remotely_ sorry.

He is sorry about dropping out of contact with Shiro's family, though, but reasons perhaps that he is not their son, not really, so it shouldn’t matter (except some part of him insists that it _does_ ).

Keith hesitates, fidgeting again, and lets out a concerned hm, his attention wandering back to his knife. The bandages around the knife hilt are rough against his fingertips, but they are starting to fray and come loose. He’ll have to find new ones soon.

“It’s okay,” Allura says and gently gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, as Shiro normally might do, which makes it more awkward and confusing than reassuring, really. “You don’t have to. I can just talk about my memories, if that’s more comfortable for you.”

Honestly, _aliens_. Still, she’s _trying_ and that should be enough, right?

Keith gives her a stiff nod and Allura smiles.

“He was shorter than me,” she begins, concentrating on her recollections, “That I _do_ remember because he kept complaining about how short he was for a Galran and that he’d grow into it for sure. And I never believed him, of course – he could have made himself taller, if he wanted to, but he never did. I think he had trouble shifting… or was it one of his body doubles? Oh, I don’t know, there were practically a dozen of them, I think. Anyway, I remember that he was two aluet – two hands? No, that’s not right… which is left again?”

Keith holds up his left hand, wiggling his fingers: “This one.”

“Ah, yes!” the princess exclaims, balling her hands into fists and scooting forward in excitement. “Two _left_ hands. He was two left hands.”

“He had two left hands?” Keith manages, in pure bewilderment.

“Ah, no,” Allura pauses, pursing her lips as she attempts to explain what is obviously an Altean idiom that doesn’t quite translate. She makes a gesture as if dropping something. “Clum-zee? Is this the word?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith answers. “Being two aluet means being a clumsy person, ok. Got it.”

He tries not to think about the day that he’ll be more fluent in Altean than English.

He tries not to think about the casual way alien swears slip off all the Paladins’ tongues so easily now or how easily the languages seem to come to them with these suits, him most of all.

And he definitely tries not to think about how utterly _familiar_ the Galra sigil on Sendak’s ship had been, like he’d seen it somewhere before.

He swallows hard, gripping his knife for reassurance, and tries to pay attention to what Allura’s saying. It’s _important_ , if they’re going to find this guy.

The sigil burns behind his eyelids, choked in a shroud of ash and flame.

All of a sudden, his right hand spasms and he curses, yanking it up and shaking it.

“Are you all right?” Allura asks, startled. She’s giving him a particularly scandalized look and it’s his fault really; he _might_ not have gotten the grammar right, but he’d just put together a string of curses that could make a space pirate blush.

And apparently mortify space princesses, too.

“I’m fine,” Keith answers at last, shaking his hand roughly. “Pins and needles – _ah_ , my hand… fell asleep?”

Allura gives him an incredibly skeptical look – or maybe it’s just that she’s unfamiliar with the idiom – and finally, she sighs, rising to her feet.  “Well, we shall take that as a sign that it’s time to get some much-deserved rest. Come on, on your feet, Paladin! It’s time for bed.”

Keith lets her tug him to his feet with his left hand, grunting a bit as she gently tries to shoo him off to his quarters.

His right hand throbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely translated, Keith said "Sordid flaming pimp nipples born of a undulating cow."


	5. fighting on

The Gunfwe Praexhli asteroid mining station streaks by them as Keith sends Red into a tight darting spin that should have had him plastered into the seat from the G forces. Instead, he pulls up sharply, opening his mouth to roar as Red’s own massive jaw opens wide and unleashes a torrent of blistering plasma flames from the main cannon. In that moment, he is Red and Red is him and there’s nothing but them and the battle and their claws, ready to sink into the hind quarters of their prey and tear it down.

And the fleet of the Galra’s so-called sector commander was certainly prey worth tearing apart.

“Keith,” Shiro calls over the coms, “Check your six.”

In an instant, Keith snaps back to himself and the mission. “Roger,” he replies at last and cuts through the center of the fleet, twisting and turning Red around the Galran ships in tight spirals before doubling back and darting through on an angle. He cuts his turns close enough to scrape the hulls and render their tractor arrays useless before darting back again and dousing the rear of the fleet in plasma.

It’s like riling up a hornet’s nest. Fighters pour out of the ships, disgorging in wave after wave, and they spiral after him as he darts and weaves through their fleet. Their fighters are nimble ships, yes, but it’s clear that they’re not as nimble as Red, much less as fast.

“We’re processing your telemetry now, Keith,” Allura calls out. She, Coran and the Castle of Lions are hidden deeper in the asteroid field, where they won’t easily be found. “Got it! They’re Jhazf class - long range fighters. Built for distance strikes, not close quarters. If you can put them into sharp enough turns, they won’t be able to recover.”

“Roger, Lion Queen,” Keith says, eyeing a narrow gap between two of the launch ships. He ignores Allura’s annoyed huff at the call sign. It had just sort of slipped out one day and it had stuck. Allura had found it all ridiculous, but at least she’d given up trying to convince them _not_ to use it while they were engaged in battle.

“Stick with the plan,” Shiro admonishes. “Bring them to us.”

There’s a muffled noise over the com, as if someone had snorted or mumbled something inaudible, and again Shiro calls: “Guys, keep the coms _clear_. Keith, did you copy?”

“Five by five, Black Leader,” Keith says and puts his Lion into a steep dive towards the command deck of one of the larger cruisers flying below the gap. It’s probably the commander’s.

“Heh,” Lance calls, “Star Wars reference.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Shiro’s tone is sharp and unamused. “Not the time.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, the rear proximity warning blares _target lock_ in lurid red Altean. “Heads up, we’re going target-rich. Prepare for yank and bank.”

“Aw yes!” Lance shouts and there’s a decidedly less than thrilled moan from Hunk. Pidge is quiet, but then Pidge likes to run coms silent and Shiro only encourages her.

Keith punches the acceleration and heads straight for the rally point, Asteroid 88B7, where the squad is waiting for him and the fighters on his tail with about a hundred high-payload MEELO charges. The fighters won’t know what hit them.

As tactical plans go, it’s simple: they use Red Lion as a lure to get the fighters to come to them in the one place they can’t easily escape, the asteroid field, blow them all up and then go for the fleet ships with Voltron. And there’s no way the Galra won’t expect a trap – especially when the whole situation practically _screams_ trap - but there’s one thing going for them.

The Galra can’t afford to ignore a lone Lion. They know that capturing one Lion is the key to shutting down the team’s ability to form Voltron and drastically reduces the combat effectiveness of the other four Lions. The Galra know that and so does the team.

And they can use that against them.

Keith passes the outer edge of the asteroid field with a hail of fire at his back and his coms crackle.

“Activating MEELO charges on three,” Pidge announces, “two, one, MEELO charges hot.”

“Let’s lead them in,” Shiro calls and Black Lion gallops into view across the asteroid surface ahead of him, breaking to the right.

Green Lion streaks across the asteroid to his left, slipping over the side and vanishing. Yellow Lion fires on the fighters from ahead and then leaps away, relocating deeper into the field before firing again. Blue nearly clips his Lion’s head and Keith grinds his teeth.

“Damn it, Lance! Watch where you’re going!” he shouts.

“You watch it, Mullet!” Lance fires back over the coms. Blue Lion pulls up, spinning and spitting ice, and then darts away.

“ _Guys!_ ” Shiro’s thoroughly annoyed voice cuts through. “Stow it!”

Keith grumbles, slamming through the next turn with an insult dead on his tongue. The fighter tailing him doesn’t make it, slamming into the asteroid hard, and explodes on contact. The debris takes out another fighter.

“Form up, rally two! Now, now, now,” Shiro orders and Keith has to fight the urge to pull up on the controls until he’s completely clear of the asteroid.

“Hunk, hotel alpha, man!” Shiro calls out again.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’m trying! I’m trying!” Hunk answers and then Yellow is there, plowing through a smaller asteroid at max speed and shattering it. “Woo!”

One by one, they emerge in the black above the field, the distinctive glow of Voltron’s activating transformation surrounding them in incandescent brilliance. Then, they’re moving, charging straight for the fleet. Behind them, there’s a hefty _whump_ as the MEELOs detonate, incinerating this part of the asteroid field and all the fighters, and then Voltron is being propelled along even faster by the shockwave, turning them into one nasty giant robot-shaped missile.

“It worked!” Pidge shouts gleefully. “I _told_ you it would work!”

“Wait, you didn’t think it would work?” Lance pipes up, horrified. “WHAT?”

“No, no, it was totally plausible,” Hunk attempts to assure him. “We just weren’t sure of exactly how much payload we were detonating.”

“Oh my god,” Lance says.

“But see, we’re _totally fine_ ,” Pidge adds. “The math completely worked out.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Lance repeats, incredulous.

“Stop being dramatic,” Keith tells him, rolling his eyes.

“Shiro, they nearly blew us up! How could you go along with this?” Lance protests. “Oh my _gooood. Madre de dios!_ ”

Keith can practically _hear_ Shiro rolling his eyes.

“Lance, we can talk about it _later_.”

“I don’t see why he’s upset, everything’s fine!”

“Yeah, and now we know the conversion rates we were working on for explosive force are accurate!”

“OH MY GOOOOOOOOD!”

“ _LANCE!”_

Keith groans and wonders how they’ll ever survive this war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MEELO stands for Modified Explosive Emitters Low Orbit and they're used in mining asteroids.
> 
> I know I promised three chapters, but this has been a bad week, I was trying to distract myself, and the next chapter is much more serious and I really, really can't handle that right now.


	6. Being Genre Savvy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do we have to go in there?” Lance asks. He gives Allura a pleading look. “I’ve seen Aliens.”

 Gunfwe Praexhli’s hanger is empty of life when they land. The atmospheric shields are automatic, engaging as soon as their shuttle touches down on the deck. A neutral digital voice activates, running through pre-programmed notifications in a half-familiar tone. There are warning lights, flashing steadily, but there are no alarms – at least, none that they can hear.

“What are they saying?” Lance asks, looking up.

Keith follows his gaze to what looks like the windows of a control room. It appears to be empty. It’s not a good sign.

“It’s a full security lockdown,” Coran answers, “Our fault, I’m afraid.”

Allura frowns, turning to the doors. She taps the controls and it beeps angrily at her. “We’re going to have to bypass the controls.”

Hunk hums thoughtfully, his eyes roving over the door, and then he approaches the wall next to it. Hooking his fingers into the edge of a panel, he tugs hard and it opens. He crouches down, takes a good long look, and pokes some things for good measure. “I can get it open – the hydraulics are pretty standard. Just gonna need a few minutes.”

“What about the computer?” Allura asks him, leaning over.

“I can handle that,” Pidge answers, going for her laptop.

“Nah,” Hunk says, already up to his elbows in wires. “I almost got it.”

“I can _do_ it,” Pidge huffs indignantly, drawing herself to her full height – all five feet of it. “It’ll just take a minute.”

“Hunk says he’s got it,” Lance points out.

“We’re _still_ going to need to get into the mainframe at some point,” Pidge fires back, jabbing a finger in the direction of the control consoles.

“Which will be far more efficiently done if we can get you up to that control room first,” Shiro says in a conciliatory tone, intervening at last.

Pidge makes a frustrated noise and rolls her eyes.

“Got it!” Hunk announces. He pulls on something and there’s a thud, followed by a grinding series of clicks and then the door hisses as it rattles open.

The corridor beyond is large and dark, emergency lights pulsing softly along the edges near the floor and ceiling. It stretches on, seemingly forever, and Keith feels a shiver slip down his spine, along with an uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu.

He grips his knife in his off hand.

“It’s so quiet,” Hunk says, peering over Keith’s shoulder, and just like that, Keith’s okay again.

“Do we have to go in there?” Lance asks. He gives Allura a pleading look. “I’ve seen _Aliens_.”

Allura blinks, clearly not getting the reference. “Yes, you have. Although, from our perspective, _you_ are the aliens.”

Pidge giggles, giving Hunk a nudge with her elbow.

Keith just pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighs.

“Don’t you have _movies_?” Lance asks, gesturing with his hands. “You know, moving pictures, television, telenovelas…”

Allura just shakes her head in confusion. Behind her, Coran shrugs in bewilderment.

“Ugh!” Lance groans dramatically, rolling his eyes skyward and throwing his arms up in the air.

“Are you done?” Keith asks him. “Cause we got stuff to do.”

Lance slumps forward and rewards him with an irritated glare.

Shiro, meanwhile, is looking away and trying desperately not to laugh. “I’ll explain later,” he apologetically tells the Alteans. “I promise.”

Allura gives him one of her imperious _you’d better_ glares and, seemingly satisfied that he’d got the message, she enters the dim corridor. “Let’s go, team. And stay close. Gunfwe Praexhli isn’t just a mining station – it’s a _prison_.”

“I thought you said it was a political prison,” Shiro says, following her. He keeps her a step ahead of him and to his left, out of the line of fire for his right arm.

“It is,” Coran adds. “Or, at least, it _was_ before the war.”

“Before the war – as in ten _thousand_ years ago?” Lance pipes up. He’s constantly moving his head and eyes, nervously looking at the ceiling and floor, as if something might pop out any second. “Great. A lot can happen in ten thousand years, you know.”

Allura sighs loudly and turns. “I _know_ ,” she admits and when she speaks again, it’s obvious she’s upset. “But… Gunfwe Praexhli is the best chance we have at finding out if any more of my people survived the war.”

“Well, everything here looks pretty well maintained,” Hunk speaks up. He raises a fist, knocking it against the wall. “If this place was abandoned, the hydraulics wouldn’t have been in such good shape and we’d probably have no power or atmosphere in here.”

Keith knows what he’s doing – they all do, really: he’s assuring her in the way he knows best and that’s through sheer mechanical know-how. And it’s working, too, judging by the grateful smile she gives Hunk.

“Somehow, I don’t think the mines will be like this,” Lance observes.

“As far as the Galran Empire is concerned, slaves in their work camps don’t necessarily rate this kind of luxury,” Coran says pointedly.

“I’m more worried about finding them _alive_ ,” Allura states, her mouth set in a hard line. “If that rat gslmo cut off their air…”

Keith frowns, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Suffocation is a nasty way to go. They used to talk about it in the Garrison. It’s one of the biggest dangers a pilot could possibly face – well, not counting _evil space empires_ , that is.

Somehow, Keith doubts that the possibility of evil space empires never even crossed their minds. In fact, he can just imagine how absolutely apoplectic it'd make that dick of a Cadet Commander. Then again, who could have even imagined that it’d be a possibility in the first place?

Certainly not them, that’s for sure.

They start walking again and Keith can see Pidge fidgeting and chewing on her lip nervously.

Finally, Pidge pipes up, “Do you think it’s possible my brother or my dad was sent here?”

Shiro doesn’t look at her when he answers: “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Most likely not,” Coran says gently. He gives Pidge an apologetic pat on the shoulder. “There are many such mining stations like this scattered throughout the Empire and this one – it’s always been more a place for political prisoners and dissidents.”

“But you don’t know for sure, right?” Pidge hesitates, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “It’s been ten thousand years. Maybe it’s different now. They could have sent them here.”

Coran sighs and Pidge looks to Shiro helplessly, silently begging him for help with her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro states, shaking his head, “I can’t… I don’t remember. I’m so sorry.”

Keith can’t watch this – no, he doesn’t want to watch this. It’s bad enough that Shiro has nightmares and memory problems already, but now he’ll probably be beating himself up for it, too. And that’s no good for anyone, especially if they need to make a hasty retreat and reform Voltron.

“I promise, we’ll look for them,” Allura says, pausing in her step and hanging back for a moment. She takes Pidge’s hands in her own and smiles kindly. “We _will_ find them. You must not give up hope.”

She turns, giving Shiro a commanding look. “That goes for you, too.”

Keith huffs in annoyance, fidgeting with his knife, and tries to focus on the long walk ahead of them instead. Next to him, Lance is still warily eyeballing the walls and ceilings, just in case any of that nonsense he’s stuffed his head with happens to be true.

Keith rolls his eyes at him.

Finally, the corridor starts to get a bit brighter and the dim emergency lighting seems to settle out into the normal dark purple hue characteristic of Galra facilities. A large set of industrial hydraulic doors sits just a little further on. They’re covered in thick Galran letters and bright glowing purple strips.  An all-too familiar symbol hangs over the door – Keith ignores it.

Shiro slides forward silently and places his right hand on the hand scanner.

And, for a moment, everyone holds their breath.

Then, there is a loud click and the sounds of gears turning, like tumblers in a lock. The massive doors shudder a bit and then slowly rumble back into their housings.

Keith freezes in place.

Behind him, Hunk gasps.

Lance’s jaw drops, closes, and drops again.

Shiro has gone a nasty shade of pasty white. He looks like he’s going to be ill.

Pidge stands, stock still, her hands balled into fists at her sides as she trembles in silent fury.

“A _political_ prison, for _dissidents_ ,” Lance manages, finally. He is shaking a little as he presses a hand over his face. “Madre de dios. We should have guessed. We should have _known._ ”

Hundreds of fright-filled eyes stare back at them, from sunken, hollow faces. They are dressed in the same jumpsuit and rags that Shiro had been when he’d escaped. Some have mottled skin, others tufted ears instead of longer pointed ears and still others have facial markings similar to those of Allura and Coran. There are elderly and young alike among their number.

These are the prisoners of Gunfwe Praexhli.

They are alive.

And they are _Galran_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Lance, you ARE the aliens.
> 
> A glsmo is a very crass and vulgar word for a princess to use, considering it means the target of such a naming is the illegitimate offspring of a species that nests in feces and carries all manner of disease and is lower than scum.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, hopefully I'll get the next chapter up today but if not it'll be tomorrow or something. I'm trying to stick to doing multiple chapter updates in one sitting, I'm trying. It's been a rough week and a half.


	7. Communication

“Did you know?” Pidge demands. She is so mad that she’s shaking. “Allura, Coran… did you know?”

“Yes,” Allura states stiffly, her head held high and her expression cool and distant. “I knew.”

Pidge turns on her heel and roughly pushes her way through them.

“Pidge,” Lance attempts, reaching for her arm.

“Leave me alone!” she snaps, yanking her arm away. And then she’s off, running down the corridor, her footfalls echoing in the darkness.

Lance watches her go, a stricken expression on his face. “Pidge…”

“I’ll go get her,” Coran offers, “I can explain.”

“No,” Shiro says, stepping in front of him and holding up a hand. “ _I’ll_ do it. She’s… my responsibility. You’ll just… She’s not going to listen to you.”

Privately, Keith thinks that she’s not going to listen to Shiro either, but then again Shiro isn’t offering because he wants to talk to her, not really. Shiro’s offering because he wants to be _anywhere else but here_ right now and it’s written all over his face, plain as day.

And yet, he’s still hesitating, eying the confused and terrified prisoners warily. His eyes dart to Allura and then back to the prisoners. His left hand is shaking.

Keith’s never seen Shiro look so cornered in his whole life and it hurts, especially because it’s blatantly obvious that these prisoners are no threat to _anyone_.

“Go,” Allura says, “It’ll be fine. Hunk, Lance, Keith and Coran will be right here with me the whole time.”

Shiro meets her gaze, but doesn’t move.

“Hey, _Sephora_ ,” Keith says, stepping forward. He puts himself between her and Shiro. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I’ve got this.”

Shiro blinks, his eyes locking on Keith, and for a moment, his brother is _back_.

“It’s okay,” Keith adds. “I’m not going to let anything happen, I promise.”

Shiro stares at him.

“It’s _okay_ ,” Keith repeats, more firmly this time.

Shiro nods absently, turning away, and starts jogging back down the corridor. He pauses, looking back over his shoulder, and Keith nods at him, mouthing “go.” Again, Shiro shoots a furtive look at the prisoners beyond, but then, finally, he forces himself to look away and starts back down the hall again.

Lance waits until he disappears from view and then gives Keith an incredulous look. “Sephora?”

“I was _twelve_ and he really liked eyeliner,” Keith explains.

“Sephora, though,” Lance repeats, clearly beyond amused.

 _“Twelve_ ,” Keith fires back sharply. “And don’t even think about it, cargo. He’ll kick your ass.”

“Well, then how come _you_ get to call him that, huh?” Lance asks, jabbing a finger at Keith’s chest. “What makes you so special?”

“I dunno, because he’s my foster brother and I’ve known him since I was nine?” Keith suggests with a shrug.

 _“What?”_ Lance exclaims. “Shiro’s your brother? Why didn’t you _tell_ us? We _bonded_. You cradled me in your _arms_.”

“I thought everyone _knew_ ,” Keith says.

Everyone at the Garrison sure had, at any rate. After Kerberos, he couldn’t decide what had pushed him into going off like he had more: the grief of losing the first person that had really ever cared about him, the fact they weren’t even _trying_ to look for them or the fact that everyone began to treat him like he was made of glass.

Keith then narrows his eyes at Lance. “Wait, didn’t you say that never happened?”

“Hunk, did you know?” Lance asks desperately, completely ignoring Keith’s question. “Does _Pidge_ know?”

Hunk smiles apologetically and nods.

Keith rolls his eyes. “The whole _Garrison_ knows, Lance.”

“Am I the only one that didn’t know?” Lance asks, rhetorically.

Coran nods in the affirmative and Allura helpfully adds, “Keith told me, after Typ’ff Prita.”

Lance lets out a dramatic groan, slumping forward. “I hate you guys. You suck so much.”

Hunk pats him on the back in an attempt to be assuring.

“Some rescue party we are,” Keith mutters under his breath as he turns around and forces a smile at the prisoners.

They regard him warily.

Maybe that wasn't the best of ideas, Keith thinks to himself.

Allura glides forward and bows to them, raising her voice to let out a greeting that doesn’t quite translate beyond the sparse mention of Allura’s own name and that of Voltron.

Several of the prisoners let out gasps of excitement. A murmur ripples through them, but it doesn’t sound threatening or bad at all. Someone starts crying. One of them cries out and hugs another, then someone else does the same and it spreads like wildfire. One elder, her skin fair and mottled with purple patches approaches Allura with tears in her eyes and embraces her warmly.

“Oh,” she says, her voice creaking, “Long have we waited with hope in our hearts. You have returned, blessed child, and brought Voltron with you.”

“Tell me your name, elder, that I might speak with you,” Allura responds with a gentle smile, “and afford you all due honors.”

“Why is she talking like that?” Lance whispers to Coran.

“It’s considered the polite way to address an Altean elder,” Coran explains quietly.

“But,” Hunk whispers, “Isn’t she Galran?”

Coran’s mustache twitches. “Hardly – she’s a quarter at best.”

“There are _Alteans_ here, too?” Keith asks in surprise and then he looks back at the crowd.

The markings.

 _Oh_.

“Oh,” he says quietly, as Coran’s words on Typ’ff Prita come back to him: _there have always been those of Altean descent in the Galran Empire._

He looks at Lance, who is clearly troubled. Hunk lingers next to him silently, his arms at his sides, bayard holstered and expression deeply upset.

“Just before the war, the Empire began deporting Alteans and anyone of obvious Altean descent,” Coran adds, softly, “Along with their families and anyone who opposed it. We only know because some made it to Altea and our sister colony on Pollux. That is why this station was a priority for us.”

Coran pauses, his eyes misty as he looks at the prisoners. “We didn’t expect there’d still be survivors.”

The Altean man then crumples a little and chokes out a sob. “I’m _glad_.”

The three Paladins exchange glances. No one knows what to say to that, so they don’t say anything at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees something as Allura steps out of the corridor and into their midst, unafraid and unhesitating.

Her eyes are shining with tears, but, for the first time in a long time, she’s truly smiling.

She shifts subtly again, but this time it’s not giving him the willies.

This time, he feels like he should be smiling, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is also better known as Captain Guyliner, but Keith's not about to give Lance that kind of ammunition. That's a thing between _brothers_ and Lance isn't quite on that level yet.
> 
> Also, Allura's capture continues to have psychological fallout for Shiro, yay.


	8. Darmok

“This is the lay of Romelle Amue,” one of the elders calls out. She is blind and stooped, her white hair hanging in long braids that are threaded with stone and metal beads and her skin an almost translucent lavender. In her hands, she holds a long strand of carved beads and runs her thumb over them.

She almost resembles a Druid, but her shift is tattered and torn, the grey of someone who has suffered imprisonment at the hands of the Galra Empire, and there is nothing of that terrible presence that accompanied them. Instead, there is something else, a kind of odd gravity that surrounds her and draws everyone’s attention.

“Long may Amue walk, her back unbroken.”

It seems like it comes from everywhere at once, from everyone, spilling forth from almost every prisoner’s lips in a single chorus that fills the central chamber of the station, rising level after level.

The old woman speaks again, beads clicking in her fingers, as she recounts events that transpired ten thousand years ago and, like clockwork, comes the chorus, repeating that phrase.

It’s the height of surreal, Keith thinks to himself. Here they are, the Galran Empire’s Most Wanted, and they’re sitting here, smack in the middle of a Galran political prison-slash-labor camp, shaking hands and making nice with what would be, in other circumstances, the opposition.

Except, _these_ people had the misfortune of either being born not Galran enough for the Empire or being brave enough to not turn a blind eye to an atrocity brewing in their own backyard. And some of them didn’t even have that much – they’d been born to this place, prisoners for crimes they’d never committed or, worse, simply for their ancestors even having existed at all.

It’s sad, that’s what it is, he decides, and it only gets sadder the more he listens.

Allura, on the other hand, wants to do nothing else but listen, it seems.

“The princess Romelle was her cousin,” Coran explains to them. “She was one of the rulers of Pollux. They were quite close once.”

Lance scrunches up his face in thought, watching Allura. “I think the translator’s bugging out. What does that thing they keep saying mean?”

“Amue? It’s an expression,” Coran pauses. His mustache twitches. “You’re not Altean, so it may not exactly be translatable.”

“Great. Another Darmok,” Hunk sighs under his breath. Then, he pipes up: “Hey Coran, could you try, please? You know, for science.”

He taps his com link meaningfully.

Idioms, as they’ve come to realize, really aren’t all that translatable, which is both a blessing _and_ a curse (or, as Pidge dubbed it to Hunk’s utter glee, the Darmok Effect – whatever _that_ means). On the plus side, the Galrans can’t figure out what they’re talking about in combat, even when they _do_ manage to pick up their chatter or pin them down. Down side is, neither can _anyone_ , really, including Allura and Coran. Oh, they’ve made _some_ progress, but it’s a bit hit or miss, hence why the need for Science, which was just a fancy way of saying that Pidge and Hunk were trying to build a better translator (something a bit less _Google Translate Space Edition_ and more _Universal Translator,_ as Pidge had put it).

They still haven’t quite figured out how the one they've got works in the first place.

Coran’s mustache twitches again as he regards them and then he closes his eyes, turning away. “It’s to do with an old legend, one from hundreds of thousands of years ago, about the sacred tree of the Mother of Lions.”

Hunk and Lance exchange a glance, mouthing “mother of lions” in curiosity and Keith feels like something cold just slipped down his spine: he’s heard that before, he’s sure of it.

Could it have been in the Castle? He remembers trying to look up some things in the computer when they’d first arrived, but then things had gone sideways so quickly and, well, the point was a bit moot now, considering they _still_ had no idea how much data they’d lost with Alfor’s AI.

A _lot_ seems to be the general consensus.

He taps his leg, cocking his head to the side as he chases the dim sense of familiarity, and gets nowhere closer than he was a moment before.

“Thiamue was the name of the tree,” Coran continues. He laces his fingers together, palms facing up, and bends his thumbs. The result is vaguely branchlike. “To our people, it was profoundly sacred. It represents an unwavering strength in the face of incredible adversity – the ability to weather any storm, no matter how great.”

At that, Coran’s expression goes distant. “Romelle and Allura were near to the same age when the war began. After the Invasion of Pollux colony, we’d lost all contact with her and her brothers. The King feared the worst – we all did. It was no secret what was going on.”

Again, Coran pauses. “I’m glad to learn that she survived. Truly, she is due this honor.”

“Title?” Keith murmurs in bewilderment, more to himself. He taps the side of his helmet a few times, earning a look from Hunk and Lance. He rolls his eyes and mouths, “Translator.”

Lance snorts, unsurprised.

Hunk shrugs, as if to say “it’s a work in progress.”

Keith catches movement behind them out of the corner of his eye. He raises his head rapidly and stops, letting out a soft huh as he sees several children scoot back behind the crates.

Lance, who had frozen mid turn, immediately relaxes, and Hunk does the same.

These children are very young and of noticeably mixed descent. Two have the darker Altean skin with purple hair and large ears. One’s ears resemble those of a long-haired cat and the other’s have far more in common with Sendak in terms of general structure. The rest have ears that resemble Altean ears. A few have lizard-like purple scales on their skin, creating an overall mottled effect, but most have tufts of fur. The majority of them have the yellow, gleaming eyes, but their pupils are larger and one or two have the fair sclera and defined Altean iris, though in a very striking yellow color. They wear carved beads, threaded into their hair or tied with knots to their clothes.

“Hey!” Lance says brightly.

Coran’s mustache twitches, concealing most of his smile. He leans down, patting Keith on the shoulder. “A word of advice, boys – don’t show your teeth when you smile. It’s considered _rude_ in Galran society.”

Keith’s got a hunch that that’s _not_ quite accurate. But it’s too late to ask: Coran’s already excused himself to go and join Allura and Lance is introducing himself to the gathering children as the _coolest_ Paladin ever.

“Well, the Blue Lion _does_ have power over ice,” Keith quips, unable to resist, and Hunk completely cracks up.

Lance gives them both a withering look and then dramatically turns up his nose. He does an about face and marches straight into the midst of the children. “I’m just going to go and talk to my _new best friends_ alone. They appreciate me. Isn’t that right?”

The children clearly have no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s a Paladin of Voltron and they’re absolutely enthralled with the prospect of being able to get so close, considering Voltron and the Paladins were pretty much considered a myth until recently. One of them tugs on his arm, demanding to hear about his adventures, and that’s all it takes for Lance’s attention to be completely diverted with an epic (and pretty blatantly embellished) retelling of the liberation of Balmera.

It doesn’t really take that long for Hunk to join in – mostly to stop Lance from taking _all_ the credit – and then they’re both making fake laser noises and miming battles to the delight of the children (and more than a few adults).

Keith is trying _desperately_ not to laugh.

Hadn’t he said something about coming from a large family? Keith thinks he can see it, now. For the first time in months, Lance seems utterly at ease.

And then it hits him like a punch to the gut: these kids must remind Lance of his family.

Lance misses his family.

His stomach churns, and, abruptly, Keith gets to his feet.

Both Hunk and Lance shoot him questioning looks.

“EGS?” Hunk asks.

Keith shakes his head in the negative, waving it off as nothing.

Hunk nods, while Lance looks hesitant. Then Lance turns away as if nothing happened and begins to launch into another story.

Keith moves a little further off to the side and sits, pulling out his knife. Its presence is a steady, familiar weight in his hand. Tapping it against one palm, he rolls it back and forth a little and tries to once again calm down.

“Is that your knife?” someone – a girl, maybe – asks.

Keith looks up abruptly and sees one of the prisoners standing nearby.

She isn’t much older than he is, not really, and she’d almost look human, if it weren’t for her long ears and the purple spots on her skin. Her hair is cut terribly short, a sloppy cut that speaks of convenience rather than choice, and she wears the same undersuit and tunic as the rest of them, though she has a strand of carved stone beads around her neck.

“Yeah,” he answers, after a moment.

She sits down next to him and he realizes that the purple spots form a specific pattern down the sides of her neck and arms. “I’m Fala of the Pelex Birin clan.”

“I’m Keith Kogane,” he tells her.

She gives him an odd amused look, as if there’s something funny about his name.

Aliens are _weird_ , he decides.

“It’s a very nice knife,” she tells him, at last.

“It belonged to my parents,” Keith replies.

“Oh,” the girl, Fala, says. She pauses, hesitating a moment. “On Galra, it’s tradition to give children a line knife when they come of age to acknowledge their place as a member of their clan. It is meant to connect us to our history as a people.”

Keith looks down at his knife, at the familiar planes of metal, and idly traces his fingers over the wrappings on the hilt. "Do you have one, then?"

“We weren’t allowed to keep them when we were brought here,” Fala states solemnly. She stares straight ahead, gaze hollow. “They tried to take our history from us and erase our people.”

The translator hiccups again and people becomes _clan-family-kin_.

 “I’m sorry, I didn't know,” Keith says, honestly. “No one deserves this.”

Fala nods. One of her fingers winds around the beads.

It suddenly gets very quiet.

“So, what are the beads for?” he asks, trying to break the awkward silence.

Fala takes off the strand. She holds it up, pinching one of the stone beads between her fingers. “Look closely. What do you see?”

“It’s got carvings on it,” Keith answers. He narrows his eyes. “Galran? No… that’s Altean?”

“It is both,” Fala laughs a little, smiling in a weird way that shows no teeth. “The droids are programmed to search for weapons, but a trinket such as this? They do not question. What is a bead or a child's teething ring to a droid? It is nothing.”

She pauses. “To us, it is everything - all the people that have fallen because of the Oath Broken, the trail of blood across the stars. It is a record, the proof the Oathbreaker cannot erase.”

Then, she deliberately places the strand in his free hand.

Keith raises his head, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Take it, Paladin of Voltron,” Fala says.

He opens his mouth, floundering awkwardly. “I can’t take this… this is...”

“Proof of an Oath Broken,” Fala insists, closing his hand over the strand. “What remains to be found is only the Proof of the Oath.”

“What?” Keith manages. “I don’t understand.”

It’s too late: Fala is quicker than he is and by the time he gets to his feet, he’s already completely lost track of her in the crowd. He cranes his neck, peering at face after face, but she’s long gone.

All of a sudden, the hair on the back of his neck prickles and a sense that he’s being _watched_ floods over him.

Keith turns, knife drawn, eyes scanning the crowd and stops. There, in the back: the Galran prisoner with the long white hair and purple skin! He’s staring _right_ at him!

“Keith, what’s wrong?” Allura asks.

Keith nearly jumps, startled by her sudden question. When he looks back, the figure is gone.

“Keith?” she repeats, now deeply concerned.

“It’s nothing,” he says, drawing back. “I just thought… I must be imagining things.”

Allura puts a comforting hand on his arm and smiles a little. “It’s all right. Why don’t you come and sit with us a while, hm?”

“Okay,” Keith replies. In his other hand, the beads click together. “Hey, Allura, what does _proof of the Oath_ mean?"

Allura stares at him, eyes wide. “Where did you hear that?”

“One of the prisoners told me, why?” he responds, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s…” Allura pauses. “The Proof of the Oath is a person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Alteans once traversed the roots of Thiamue from one end of the world to another, when the great darkness fell. It held them, never once breaking, as they walked to safety.
> 
> Pidge u nerd.
> 
> I think about translation software in scifi a lot and then I just... Babelfish all I'm gonna say man.
> 
> Also: Fala was the original name of Allura in Golion. This Fala, however, obviously is a bit different.


	9. The Meaning

“It’s that prince, Lotor, isn’t it?” Keith asks, after a moment’s thought.

Allura blinks, giving him a curious and stunned look. “Well, _yes_ , sort of – how did you…?”

Keith shrugs absently and admits, “I had a hunch. They keep talking about an Oathbreaker - you know, in the story – and if that’s Zarkon, then… Well, it’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

He pauses, looking down at the beads in his hand, and then back to her. “What I _don’t_ understand is what all that’s supposed to mean or _why_ that girl gave me these. I mean, she practically shoved them in my hand and told me to look for this guy!”

“May I see those?” Allura asks, softly.

Keith nods, holding out the strand, and Allura takes it, ever so gently. She looks over the beads, tracing her fingers over the shape of both languages, one that is her own, and there are unshed tears in her eyes.

It’s probably one of _the_ top ten most uncomfortable moments of his life. Allura’s grief is palpable and he cannot really think of any way he can possibly help. This whole situation is too much. “The girl, Fala, she said it was a record, proof of what’s happened,” he explains and tries not to squirm.

With a sniffle, Allura blinks back her tears and plasters a thin smile on her lips. She nods, offering the strand of beads back to him. “That’s exactly what it is, Keith.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do with it?” he wonders aloud, spreading his arms in a gesture of pure uncertainty. “Does she want us to give it to this prince or something?”

“I expect that is exactly her intent,” Allura says dryly.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Come on, we don’t even know if he’s _alive_.”

“And there’s no proof that he’s not,” Allura admonishes him. She sighs, reaching over to adjust his sleeves and collar a little. It’s an action she mimics from Shiro, one that he suspects she means will put him at ease. He knows that she doesn’t really understand why it’s a bit weird when she does it, but he doesn’t have it in him to tell her not to. Besides, it is the effort that counts, right?

She tries, she really does, and that’s enough for him.

“Besides, Keith, Lotor’s never been _just_ the prince,” Allura adds. “To the Galra, he’s always been much, much more than that.”

Keith stares at her, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“What’s going on?” Hunk asks, approaching. He’s not hiding his concern very well and, with just a glance past his shoulder, its clear Lance also has an eyeball on them.

The prisoners, though they are trying to hide it, are watching, too.

Keith shrugs, jerking a thumb at the prisoners. “Looks like they want us to pass on a message to that Lotor guy, if we ever end up finding him.”

“What,” Hunk manages in bewilderment. “But he’s _missing_ , right? Like, _really_ missing. Like _might be dead_ missing.”

“I think we established that, yes,” Keith says, wryly.

Allura rolls her eyes at both of them.

“So, hold up - how exactly do they expect us to find him?” Hunk asks, shaking his head and raising a hand.  “It’s a _big_ universe.”

“You are the Paladins of Voltron,” Allura replies with a kind smile, as if it explains everything, “Avatars of the Lions. To them, there is nothing you cannot do.”

Both Hunk and Keith give her a skeptical look. Still, she knows a lot more about the Galra than they do and the idea of asking the prisoners to explain what is obviously something cultural is frankly more than a bit daunting. There is such fear on their faces, even now – fear and suspicion, both.

“Hey, Allura, what’s going to happen to these guys?” Keith pipes up. “I mean, now that they’re free and stuff.”

She sighs, raising her eyebrows, and straightens up to her full height as she turns her gaze elsewhere. “That is entirely up to them. I believe their elders are discussing the situation now.”

“Where would they go, though?” Hunk asks. His brow furrows in deep thought. “They can’t stay here, but… isn’t this their home?”

Keith wants to ask him how a place like this prison could ever be a home, but their coms chirp.

“Hey, you might want to get up here,” Shiro says. His voice sounds shaky but a lot steadier than it was earlier. “We found something.”

Allura looks at them in curiosity and concern, as Hunk turns and exchanges a glance with Lance, who has already drawn up to his full height.

“Status?” Keith asks and waits for the response, one hand drifting to his knife.

Lance tenses and Hunk shifts, ready to pivot and run.  Allura raises a hand partway, ready to signal for Coran.

There is a dreadful pause and Keith is suddenly viscerally aware of how quiet it is.

The prisoners are watching them, frozen in place, a wave of animal dread hiding just beneath the surface.

“No factor,” Shiro states and this time he definitely sounds more himself. “Words on touchdown.”

Keith lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding as Lance and Hunk both relax and, with them, the prisoners, too. “Wilco, Black Leader,” he manages.

“One of these days, you’re going to explain what that means,” Allura says, frowning.

The three paladins exchange glances and smile.

“Come on, Princess,” Lance says, offering his arm and his cheesiest grin. “We’ve got a date with the boss.”

Allura rolls her eyes and, with a huff, marches off towards the entrance corridor without them. Keith follows her, shooting an exasperated look at Lance over his shoulder.

But Lance smiles, shrugging, as if to say _I tried_ , and then Hunk tugs him along.

 _Situation normal_ , Keith thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Paladin is the heart of the Lion, the voice through which channels the will of the Mother of Lions. And when the hearts of the Paladins are as one, Voltron, champion of the Mother, emerges to stand against the wrongs of the universe._
> 
> \- Book of the Druids, circa Couerun Treaty, Pollux Archives.
> 
> I had so many rejected drafts for this chapter because Allura just gave them so much information and it was way too soon for some of it.


	10. Hurrying Along

“We have good news and bad news,” Shiro announces.

Huddled in Gunfwe Praexhli’s small command center, Keith exchanges a glance with the rest of his teammates, Altean and human alike.

It looks like Shiro’s calmed down significantly. Pidge, on the other hand, is leaning against the console furthest from them, her arms crossed over her chest and her entire posture rigid. Her expression is a kind of careful neutral that Keith knows to be wary of.

Pidge is easily the most dangerous of all of them when she puts her mind to it.

“You found a lifetime supply of pasteles and a way to call home?” Lance offers, hopefully.

Shiro stares at him, blinks, and sighs. “No.”

“Then… you found the droids we’re looking for?” Lance suggests. “The TARDIS is real? Come on, _what is it?_ ”

Keith lets out an exaggerated groan and Hunk tries to suppress a giggle. It comes out more like snort, instead. Coran and Allura, however, are sharing a bewildered look that seems to say that this must be another Weird Earthling Thing.

Shiro shakes his head, trying desperately not to laugh, and finally swivels one of the screens around with his right hand. It follows his hand through the air and stops when he gestures.

“What the hell is this – a list?” Lance demands hotly.

“Yep,” Shiro says. He smiles triumphantly. “We found Zarkon’s Most Wanted list. And we’re not at the top.”

Allura steps forward, narrowing her eyes at the text, and gives him a pointed look. “However, we’re not that far down on it, Paladin.”

“No,” Shiro admits, in a tone that says he agrees for the most part. “But that’s not the interesting bit. What _is_ interesting is _this_. Check it out.”

He pokes the entry on the top of the list with his right finger and it opens up into a whole new file – a heavily _redacted_ file, if the huge streaks of solid glowing lines where there should be text were any indication.

“Woah,” Hunk says, stepping forward.

“Pidge, run your translator,” Shiro calls out, with a glance in her direction.

Pidge huffs, uncurling, and reaches over to press something on her laptop.

The text on the screen glitches and jumps momentarily and then it switches over, redisplaying itself in iffy-but-readable English. It is not a _great_ translation – Pidge is still tweaking the program – but it’s good enough for them to get a general gist of the contents.

And it’s _unsettling_ , to put it mildly.

But not nearly as upsetting as Lance’s reaction.

Lance curses - _full-on_ curses, loudly. And in Spanish, to boot, which is surprising because normally most of what he says in Spanish their translators are able to fully handle, to Lance’s utter and complete aggravation. So for it to not translate, it has to be some kind of idiom.

Everyone, even Pidge, stares at him in shock.

“Dude, you ok?” Hunk asks, alarmed.

“No, no, coño, I am not _okay_ ,” Lance shouts, turning to face him. He throws out an arm, pointing at the translated text. “Don’t you see? This is some straight up por la izquierda bull!”

He jabs his finger. “These are standing orders to imprison _every_ individual they find of Altean descent and send them some place like this. They send them here _to die_ , Hunk. I know what the hell I’m talking about, I got family that this kinda thing happened to – we’ve got to -”

And then Lance is drawing back, eyes wide and chest heaving. He looks at all of them, then at Allura, and his hands are shaking. “We can’t let them stay here. We have to get them out of here.”

Shiro reaches for him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and gives him a look. “It’s okay. We will.”

“But,” Lance murmurs doubtfully, looking up at him. His eyes flicker to Shiro’s right arm.

“They’re victims, too,” Shiro explains, shaking his head. It sounds as forced as it probably is. Shiro has calmed down, evidently, but is still having trouble accepting what he’s seen.

Lance’s face falls as he sags a little and he pulls back, the fight seemingly drained from him.

They all know it’s not. Lance may look like he’s stepped down for now, but if anything he’s just gathering himself for round two. When it hits, it won’t be pretty, that much is guaranteed.

Blue Lion is the spirit of water and water can be more dangerous than it looks.

So can Lance.

Shiro steps back awkwardly and, looking _anywhere_ but at Lance, clears his throat. “Anyway, this is what caught my eye. Their most wanted is _half-Altean_. There’s no name given – he’s just referred to as a rogue asset – but there’s this.”

With a gesture from his right hand, the glowing text selects and zooms in on a nested grouping of numbers. There are about twelve of them in total, but three appear to have been redacted.

“We’re not quite sure what it means,” Shiro admits, sheepishly. “We thought you or Coran might be able to help, Allura.”

Allura glances at him and then turns her attention to the numbers. She frowns. “They’re Imperial fleet codes – serial numbers for ships in the Galra fleet. I… recognize the format. Coran?”

Coran’s mustache twitches and his ears perk up as he steps forward and examines the numbers. He hums and tuts, stroking his mustache. “Hmm, that’s odd.”

“What is it?” Allura asks, perking up.

“This code – it’s for the Ninth Fleet,” Coran states, matter-of-factly. “But it _can’t_ be. The Ninth Fleet was deactivated and the ships were reassigned.”

“Could they have reactivated it?” Shiro asks, frowning.

“It’s _possible_ ,” Coran admits, but the way he says indicates that he doesn’t think it is at all. His mustache twitches again. “But not for these ships. I recognize the class code. This particular kind of ship was made on Pollux and had been retired well _before_ the War.”

“So their asset likes antiques,” Keith comments dryly, rolling his eyes.

Lance snorts.

Coran gasps in horror, staring at them like they’ve just insulted his mother _and_ kicked his dog in one fell swoop. “Antiques! Young man, I’ll have you know that the Pollux shipyards produced some of the _finest_ shuttles and light cruisers in the _universe_! Why, all the most famous people and dignitaries had them! Zarkon bought twelve of them just for his son alone.”

Allura’s expression seems to automatically blank, as if this is some old speech she’s heard a thousand times before.

“Like these twelve?” Hunk asks, jerking a thumb at the screen.

Allura’s eyes pop wide open as Coran sputters, flails and rights himself.

Shiro’s head whips towards the display.

Pidge is instantly alert.

“So, they’re looking for him, too, huh?” Lance says and, for once, he’s not joking around. He clenches his hands into fists, but keeps them at his sides.

“Possibly,” Coran manages, finally. “However, Polluxian light cruisers were incredibly popular with the higher ranked officers. I’m afraid Zarkon started a bit of a trend. He was always very up on the latest fashions.”

The idea of Zarkon starting a _trend_ was absolutely mind-boggling enough, but that last bit was too much.

Keith groans. “Can I un-hear that?”

“Nope, you have to suffer with us,” Pidge grumbles, letting her head drop to her chest. “Ugh.”

“Okay, in the interests of pretending we _never_ heard that and getting the hell out of here, I got a question,” Lance pipes up. “What are we doing about this place and getting these people out of here? I need to know.”

“What about the bad news?” Hunk asks him. “I distinctly remember someone mentioning there was bad news.”

“There is,” Shiro admits.

“The place is rigged to blow,” Pidge adds. “And they can remotely kill the life support.”

Everyone stares at them.

“Coño carajo!” Lance shouts.

The translator hiccups and Keith hears _quiznaki yulschtrix_.  “Not again,” he mutters, tapping the side of his helmet.

“OH MY GOD, WHY ARE WE STILL HERE?”

“Lance, calm down!”

“HOW CAN YOU BE _CALM_?! WHAT IS IT WITH YOU PEOPLE AND BOMBS?!”

Pidge sighs and looks at Shiro. “I’ll get the shuttle.”

Allura shakes her head, raising a hand. “No, get the elders. They need to know.”

“Yeah, get them. We need to un-ass this place,” Lance agrees, turning to Pidge. “Let’s go, Short-Round!”

Pidge glares at him, a glare that promises pain and suffering. “Did you just call me _Short-Round_?”

“Bombs, Pidge, _bombs_ ,” Lance counters, seriously.

Shiro sighs loudly and covers his face with a hand.

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Hunk asks no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Keith nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time the Paladins try to speak another Earth language they know, it comes out all the same to them (and Coran and Allura), unless it's an idiom that doesn't translate.  
> This, naturally, drives Lance up the wall.
> 
> Zarkon was on top of all the hot trends of the day, back in the Good Old Times, like ruffled collars and corseted waistlines.
> 
> Also, oh _ho_ , Lance's reaction to those orders has been building with everything going on and this whole situation is now uncomfortably personal for him.


	11. Getting Out

“What,” Lance says flatly, his eyes wide in surprise.

They’d managed to gather the elders together and told them about the bombs and the Galran Empire’s ability to remotely kill the facility’s life support. The reaction they just got wasn’t what _any_ of them had expected in the slightest.

“We have always known about this,” one of the elders, who went by a name that roughly sounded like a sneeze and Keith wouldn’t _dare_ try pronouncing on his own, explains to them.

And that’s when Sneezy the elder says something that immediately gets everyone’s attention: “You needn’t worry. Feyulja sent his man to disable them.”

Keith exchanges a surprised glance with his fellow Paladins and, with one look, he knows they must all be thinking the same thing he is: _did they really just hear what they thought they did?_ However, one look at Allura and he’s not so sure anymore.

An incredibly awkward silence falls as Allura’s expression pinches. It is as if she finds something funny but it really is not funny at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees Hunk leaning over to Coran and whispering, “Um, why is she making that face?”

Coran whispers back, “It’s that name. It’s… _ridiculously_ pretentious – a bit of a joke, really, if you must know.”

“He’s basically calling himself Mister Good Guy,” Shiro comments, distantly. His expression doesn’t look quite right at all and the fingers of his prosthetic hand twitch.

He is _not_ here right now. Keith can tell.

Pidge snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “Right,” she drawls, dragging the word out with as much sarcasm as she can manage. Her eyes, however, slide to Shiro’s right hand and then back to Keith. She purses her lips and tilts her head, silently asking.

Keith nods.

Pidge frowns and shifts her position, glancing at Coran.

“It’s not just being _good_ , it’s being _good_ at being everything a _proper_ Galra should be,” Coran quietly admonishes Shiro. He presses his lips together ever so slightly as he meets Pidge’s gaze and his mustache twitches: he’s seen it, too, then.

Good, Keith thinks to himself. Now, if they can just hurry this up, then they can get Shiro out of here before they have a repeat of the Sendak Incident on their hands, this time with the _last_ people who deserve to be spaced.

Allura, meanwhile, seems to have recovered and found her footing once more. “Is the one he sent still here? I need to speak with them, if at all possible.”

“We are sorry, blessed child,” a different elder pipes up. This is the one that had told the story of Allura’s cousin. “If he is still here, we cannot say. He is as you are, and his true face is not known to us.”

At that, both Allura and Coran startle.

“Okay, as interesting as that all is, can someone _please_ explain why we’re _still_ on this rock?” Lance cuts in.

For the first time, Keith really notices just how absolutely _agitated_ Lance is.

Lance wants out and he wants it _yesterday._

Keith has _never_ seen Lance this upset and, quite frankly, it gives him the willies. Lance doesn’t _do_ upset, not like this, and the fact that he’s practically chomping at the bit to get everyone out of here is ringing every alarm bell in Keith’s head.

Lance may have a habit for sticking his foot in his mouth, but his instincts are good. If he thinks that they need to go, they probably _should._

“Guys, he’s got a point,” Keith admits, hesitantly, and shoots a look at Shiro, silently pleading him to snap out of it. “We still don’t know if that fleet got a signal out to Zarkon or not.”

Shiro’s eyes seem to refocus, as if he is waking up, and his lips pull in a thin line as his attention turns to the present. He nods, once, and turns to Allura and then the elders. “They’re right. Whatever happens next, whether you’re coming with us or not, we need to figure it out right now.”

Lance looks like he’s about to say something when the storyteller cuts him off.

“We will not be coming.”

“What?” Lance shrieks in clear horror.

Hunk’s face falls in surprise and disappointment and Pidge gives the elders a look that says she plainly doesn’t understand. Allura and Coran do not seem surprised, just resigned. Shiro’s face, on the other hand, is an unreadable mask.

“But, you don’t understand! They are _going_ to come back! You _will_ die if you stay here,” Lance protests loudly.

The elders look at Lance with a sort of strange amusement and, perhaps, fondness. It’s the same kind of odd expression that Shiro’s parents had once looked at him with, and the same one that Shiro, Allura and Coran sometimes have for them when they think they’re not looking.

“Tell me, blessed of water, where do you go from here?” the storyteller asks, gently. She approaches him and takes his hands in her own. “Do you know when your next battle will find you?”

Lance’s eyes mist and his frame trembles a bit. “But…”

“You go to war, dear child,” the storyteller explains and reaches up to brush away his tears. “The battlefield is no place for us or our children.”

“We can protect you,” Lance protests weakly. “The Castle of Lions…”

“…Has not been seen for ten thousand years, not since the Battle of Ancah on Narabass, and you are all that remains of the crew. Seven people cannot care for the needs of hundreds, you know this,” the storyteller chides him kindly.

She pauses and gives him a smile that shows no teeth, drawing back. “Besides, this place is all we know. Where should we go from here? Who would hide us, we who have nothing left but our memories?”

Allura finds her voice once more and, when she steps forward, it is as if she has stepped once more into the title of princess and is now something so much larger than herself. “Bin’ahjar ohsal, some of our friends remain still, in these darkest of times. Please, let us bring you to them.”

The storyteller clucks her tongue and gently chastises her, “Even you, most blessed, cannot promise another’s hands open to us.”

Allura blushes, her skin darkening as she ducks her head, chastised.

“What if we _ask_ first?” Keith pipes up. “If we ask them and they’re okay with it, it’s fine, right?”

Everyone is suddenly looking at him and Keith inwardly bristles, a fierce blush spreading on his face at the sudden attention. It’s not something he’s used to at _all_ and suddenly he panics, wondering if he’s somehow made some kind of alien cultural blunder. “I’m sorry, I just thought – it seemed right,” he blurts out quickly.

“Smooth, Keith,” Pidge deadpans, “Real _smooth_.”

Keith feels torn between wanting to glare daggers at her and pure embarrassment. Did Pidge _really_ have to pull the brat card _now?_

Allura sighs, her expression softening, but it is the storyteller who approaches him.

“Ah, I should have known,” the old woman pauses, humming a little as she takes his hand in her own. She smiles slyly, as if she is privy to some great joke, and adds, “Fire reveals the way we do not see.”

Keith blinks as the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and a shiver slips down his spine. He’s heard those words somewhere before.

But the storyteller is already turning away, back towards Allura. “Ask them and if their hands are open to us, we shall gladly go,” she tells them. “For now, all we ask of you is some supplies to hold us through the long nights.”

Allura purses her lips in obvious displeasure. She clearly doesn’t want to leave them here anymore than Lance does. In fact, this might be the first thing they’ve seen completely eye-to-eye on, barring the green goo.

 _No one_ likes the green goo.             

Allura nods, finally, her face schooled in a clear neutral, and she bows. “Then we shall take our leave with all haste. Let’s go, Paladins. I don’t want to leave them vulnerable any longer than strictly necessary.”

“Oh, come on, Princess! You can’t be _serious_ ,” Lance protests, loudly. “What happens when the Galra come back and we’re not here? Huh? They’re sitting ducks here! _Sitting ducks_.”

Sneezy leans over and, in what has to be the most exaggerated stage whisper Keith’s ever seen, asks, “What is a sitting duck?”

Coran shrugs in confusion.

Hunk hums thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Maybe they don’t have to be – sitting ducks, that is.”

He pauses, raising his hands to mime a narrow width. “The asteroid field is pretty dense – we saw that ourselves, coming in. There’s only a few safe approach vectors for ships larger than a light shuttle. We can use the asteroids as a kind of natural shield and force them to keep the fleet back.”

“Yeah, well, what about their death rays, Hunk?” Lance asks, waspishly.

“We did find particle shield controls,” Pidge replies, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the command center. “They’re set to a lower output frequency than the Castle, but that’s easy to fix.”

“It’d buy us some time,” Keith agrees, looking at Shiro and Allura.

He does not look at Lance on purpose.

Lance is _furious_ and they _all_ know it.

Hunk, meanwhile, turns to the elders. “Hey, what do you guys use in the mines – laser drills?”

“They’re considered standard, yes,” Sneezy replies, uncertainly.

Hunk grins, pulling out a notepad and a sharpie, and begins scribbling.

Pidge’s eyes narrow as she peeks over Hulk’s arm to his notepad and she raises her head to ask, “What about the bombs from the self-destruct? Do you still have those?”

“Of course,” another elder says. “Only the transmitters are disabled.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hunk asks Pidge, looking at her conspiratorially.

Pidge’s grin is utterly savage and her glasses glint ominously in the light as she adjusts them.

“Oh no, Shiro, they’re doing the _thing_ again,” Keith calls out.

Lance blanches, shuddering reflexively.

When Hunk and Pidge are on the same wavelength, nothing is safe.

“Don’t worry,” Coran assures Sneezy. “They know what they’re doing.”

Somehow, the elders don’t look too convinced.

Keith can’t blame them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Waatchuk gets no respect from Keith, man.
> 
> Fun fact: Shiro has heard Feyulja before.
> 
> and now for some heavy business:
> 
> I'm very touched by the interest in this fic and everyone's reactions to it. This being the first update batch since the November election, I've kind of decided to drop this out in the open: this story, at its heart, is about a group of people trying to take on a system that is set against them and not really knowing or understanding the full consequences of how they're going about it or even the background that its based in; but - and this is a big but - it is _also_ a story set against the background of an ongoing genocide and oppression of an ethnic and cultural identity spanning several nations, whose first victims belong to the very nation that has and is still perpetrating these horrible acts, acts that began when the political climate of the nation shifted to encompass and tacitly approve a policy of hatred and persecution in the name of greatness. Funny things happen, true, and this fic can get funny, but beneath it, there is a very serious story.
> 
> Fiction - and fanfiction, by extension - is a vehicle, sometimes, to talk about the world we live in and the things happening in the greater world around us.
> 
> This, as it is, is my vehicle. Buckle your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy ride.


	12. Masada (Intro)

Keith is running down a dark corridor. He can see the emergency lights flashing and there’s a _sound_ , a horrible siren – _hull breech, that’s a hull breech,_ he knows somehow.

Ahead of him, an indistinct figure in armor is running towards a bright light, but they’re so _fast_ and he can’t seem to keep up.

“Wait!” he shouts, reaching out.

The corridor stretches, the gap between them seeming to yawn wider and wider, and the figure turns, holding out a hand. Then the figure is holding his hand and he’s being tugged along, half-running, half stumbling as he struggles to keep pace.

The figure is yelling something at him, but it comes out garbled.

All of a sudden, he trips over something and looks down in confusion: a blanket?

His blanket, he realizes.

And that’s the ceiling. _His_ ceiling, in the Castle of Lions.

Also, he’s on the floor. His boots are literally staring him in the face.

Keith blinks as consciousness reasserts itself and everything sort of slowly clicks back together.

A dream. It was a _dream_.

He lets out a groan, rolling his head in frustration, and then sits up to untangle his feet from the blankets twisting around them.  Idly, he wonders how in the heck he managed to do that and what brought that weird dream on in the first place.

It must have been something about Gunfwe Praexhli.

Yeah, that sounds about right, now that he thinks about it. That’s probably where he got the corridor from.

“I hate these dreams,” he mumbles aloud and reaches up to touch the control for the on-board chronometer near his bed.

Glowing blue numbers project just over the wall and he groans loudly.

It’s not even _close_ to their designated “morning” yet. And there’s _no_ way he’s going back to sleep now.

With a frustrated huff, Keith rolls over and tugs on his boots. He might as well get some sword practice in or something. Better yet, maybe Shiro is still up.

Keith nods a little to himself, tucking his knife into the holder on his belt. Shiro always knew what to do when he had bad dreams and he could tell Shiro _anything_.

Or, he used to be able to, anyway.

Keith palms the door controls, frowning a little, and starts down the hallway towards the Command Center.

Kerberos is the worst thing that ever happened to them. He can’t believe he was _ever_ excited about that stupid mission or that it might someday be _his_ turn to follow Shiro out there. But then, what did he know? What did either of them know?

Not for the first time, he curses the Galra and Zarkon under his breath.

He _hates_ them.

With a bitter snort, he jabs at the controls for the doors to Command and immediately pauses in the doorway. The star charts are active, scattering pinpricks of holographic stars all over the room, and there’s a system actively selected. Someone’s also sitting in one of the chairs and it’s not Shiro.

It’s _Lance_.

And he looks like _hell_.

Keith warily approaches him, trying to peer over his shoulder. “Lance? You okay?”

Then, he sees the selected system and stops, his face falling a little: it’s the same one they just left. He should have guessed. Lance was really taking it pretty hard.

“They’re going to be okay, Lance, you know that, right?” he tries, stopping next to the chair. “I mean, we got the defense grid active and they got all those bombs.”

Lance huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and looks away.

“We _are_ going back,” Keith reminds him, pointedly.

And soon, too: somehow, Allura and Coran had softened the elders to the idea of allowing a few of the young adults to go with them and help pick up some supplies, although he suspects it actually had less to do with getting supplies than giving the more hot-headed survivors something constructive to do that _wasn’t_ handling high explosives. It certainly hadn’t been something that sat well with Pidge and Shiro, both of whom had practically vanished when they got back to the castle.

Lance doesn’t respond and Keith sighs.

It’s one of the more awkward moments they’ve ever had since this whole mess started.

“Keith, do you remember the Garrison, in tactics class, when they talked about Masada?” Lance asks, suddenly, breaking the silence.

Keith narrows his eyes in bewilderment. “No… why?”

Lance snaps his head up and seriously looks like he’s about to scream at him. Then his mouth snaps shut and he deliberately looks away, slumping into his chair.

Keith can practically hear his teeth grinding.

“Forget about it,” Lance says, after a moment, and stands.

Keith watches him in confusion as he leaves the room, shoulders slumped, and blinks, looking back at the screen. What was _that_ all about?

Whatever, Lance would obviously tell them when he’s ready, Keith decides and shuts down the charts with a gesture.

Now, to find Shiro.


	13. Caution

The Castle of Lions is _huge_ and that’s a massive understatement. It’s pretty easy to get lost if you’re not paying attention and, quite frankly, Keith still hasn’t really explored too much beyond the areas Allura and Coran have permitted them to enter. The rest of the ship falls into this nebulous territory of generally _unsafe_ , though Keith’s not one-hundred percent sure why.

It probably has to do with the fact that the ship _is_ ten thousand years old and a little, er, in real need of some loving maintenance, as Hunk rather delicately puts it.

Shiro, though, has been known to wander when he can’t sleep and, given he’s not in any of the areas Keith knows and wants _nothing_ to do with the twenty survivors they have temporarily shacking up in the common room, he’s got to be somewhere else.

Keith taps the wall panel and follows the operating directions Allura had given them to bring up a map with the locations of everyone on board. It’s cheating a bit, really, but the castle is big and he’d rather talk to Shiro privately.

The screen pops up, projecting a three-dimensional map of the castle into the hallway. A large glowing cluster in the common room marks out their passengers. The two tiny glowing specks in the hanger are probably Hunk and Pidge – when they can’t sleep, that’s where they _always_ end up. There are two specks walking together in the hall they call “the Gallery,” which means that it’s probably Allura and Coran. Another speck is running solo by their sleeping quarters, so that’s got to be Lance, which just leaves the glowy speck representing him and the one wandering around the lower levels near the Archives.

Right, that’s Shiro, then.

Keith dismisses the map and takes the stairs they’d designated as being at the castle’s “9 o’clock” all the way down to the Archive level. He resists the urge to slide down the railing – this time. Last time, he’d missed the jump on the skip between railings for the fourth level and third when Coran surprised him and he’d ended up landing flat on his face and nearly falling down the rest of the stairs. Luckily, he only bruised his pride.

Still, he’s not keen on a repeat of that incident.

Keith rounds the corner and comes out of the stairwell into the Archive level corridor. It is lit only by the soft green-blue that he’s come to recognize as low-power mode and he can’t see anyone. Well, not yet, anyway.

Keith rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed huff, trudging down the gently curving hall.

 _“Quiznak!”_ an unfamiliar voice curses and there’s the sound of metal hitting the floor.

Keith’s blood freezes in his veins and then he’s moving, drawing his knife in a single fluid motion as he creeps forward. Sinking into the shadows of the arching support struts, he peers out and narrows his eyes.

It’s one of the survivors, a guy called Kline. Keith remembers him from when he came on board – Hunk had made a crack about him having an even longer mullet than Keith’s and Pidge had called it _70s mecha anime chic_. The guy was only a little taller than him with fair skin and could have passed for human, if it weren’t for his pointy ears and the fact that his hair was _dark purple_. He hadn’t looked near as thin as some of the other survivors, which Keith had thought kind of _weird_ at the time. Not to mention there was something about his face that’d just been bugging him.

Okay, so maybe his instincts were right. Kline might be a Galra spy or a saboteur or something. But then why hadn’t the other survivors told them?

Ice slips down Keith’s spine. He’s got a _bad_ feeling about this.

Kline curses again, gingerly sucking on his finger as he tucks something beneath his ratty tunic, and glares at the door to the Archives as if it has greatly offended him somehow.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks, stepping out of the shadows.

Inwardly, some part of his brain is screaming _you idiot, you have made a terrible mistake, what if you just killed everyone on that station_ , but it’s too late now. Kline has already turned and seen him, and he looks just as surprised to see Keith as Keith is to see him.

“You’re Kline, right?” Keith asks, shifting his balance a little. “What are you doing down here?”

Kline stares at him, his eyes following the minute movement and tracing down his arm to the knife in his hand. His eyes widen a fraction, an unreadable expression flashing across his features before vanishing entirely into a wide, easy smile.

Keith’s distrust in him skyrockets.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kline answers, finally, rolling his shoulders in an easy shrug. He jerks a thumb towards the door to the Archives. “I was hoping I could look up my family, but it’s locked.”

Keith gives him an incredulous look. “You came down here in the middle of the night to look up your _family?”_

Kline gives him an odd, equally disbelieving look. “Wouldn’t you, if you had the chance?”

Keith shrugs noncommittally but does not take his eyes off him. Truth be told, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he was in his shoes, because it doesn’t matter: he _already_ knows what happened to his parents.

“This is the _Castle of Lions,_ Paladin,” Kline explains, in the same sort of tone that Allura and Coran use when they realize that he and the other Paladins don’t _understand_. He looks to the Archives door and his expression softens. “This place is a legend, the very thing that hope is built on. And this? This is the Grand Archives of the Castle of Lions. Everything of our people is here. It’s all here.”

Again, he repeats, “It’s all here,” but the way he says it is as if what he said is just sinking in for the first time and what that all really _means_. His eyes mist and then he lets out a choked sob, swaying and blinking in surprise as he tries in vain to make the tears _stop_.

For some reason, it’s that reaction that gets Keith’s attention. In that second, he _knows_ Kline is not a spy or out to harm them, though he can’t really explain _why_.

It’s the weirdest thing.

Keith steps forward and awkwardly pats him on the shoulder. “It’s… okay?”

Kline cracks a weak smile. “No, it’s not. It’s really not.”

Keith nods in agreement, because he’s _right_.

It’s really not okay.

Kline takes a deep breath, composing himself, and his eyes flick to the knife in his hand. “That’s a nice knife you got there. Where’d you get it?”

“My parents,” Keith answers. He pauses, then adds, “You know, you’re not the first person to ask about it.”

Kline’s eyes dart to his face, a flash of alarm skirting across his expression. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, one of the others on the station, a girl named Fala,” Keith prods. “You guys know something I don’t?”

Kline shrugs in a very vague way. “Fala’s a good kid. Could I?”

Keith spins it around in his palm and offers it hilt first. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I know my way around a knife,” Kline huffs, rolling his eyes as he picks it up. His eyes narrow at the bandages on the grip as he traces a finger over the covered symbol and then he abruptly moves on to testing the blade’s balance. He spins it in his hand, snapping his hand shut around the hilt in a way that suggests he more than just happens to know his way around knives.

It practically _dances_ in his hands.

Then, he spins it back around and offers it back to Keith, hilt first.

“It’s a very good knife,” Kline says solemnly and meets Keith’s gaze. “You should take better care of it.”

“I _do,”_ Keith says, waspishly. He yanks it close to his chest. “Anyway, it’s just a knife.”

“No, it’s not,” Kline says and he sounds a bit sad as he gestures towards the knife. “It’s more than that, isn’t it? Your parents gave it to you. It is your family.”

Keith is about to protest, but hesitates as it finally clicks. “Fala – she said knives are important, a symbol of family in your culture.”

Kline nods, absently.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” Keith says. He pauses, looking at the survivor. “It’s not like that where we’re from.”

Kline really stares at him then, his head tilting to the side slightly as if he’s searching his face for something and not quite finding it. “No, I suspect it isn’t. Where _are_ you from, anyway?”

“Some dirtball, way on the other end of the universe, called Earth,” Keith tells him. “We didn’t even know there was anything out here. And then we found Blue.”

If Kline’s eyebrows could shoot up any higher, they’d have shot straight off his face and smacked the ceiling. “You’re… joking, right?”

“No,” Keith responds, shaking his head in the negative.

Kline covers his face with a hand, blinking in clear and blatant disbelief. "Mother of Lions!"

“Keith, what’s going on?” Allura calls out.

She and Shiro are standing off a little ways, having just come around the corner. They both look surprised to see them there. Coran is behind them.

Keith shrugs and is about to answer, but Kline beats him to it: “I’m sorry, I was just trying to get to the Archives. I wanted to see if I could find out what happened to my parents.”

Allura’s expression marginally softens. “Oh, Kline,” she sighs. “The Archives haven’t been updated in ten thousand years. It’s… unlikely we’d have any information on them. Your ancestors, maybe.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Kline insists. “This is where they would have gone, if they made it out. They’d have to have come here.”

Allura freezes, eyes widening. There is a dreadful silence as she opens and closes her mouth. Then, she swoops forward, her voice a brittle thing as she manages to rasp: “How long? How long were you asleep?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Kline manages quietly. “I was just a little kid. The ship - something went wrong and they evacuated us to the shuttles. They told us it would be ok, that we’d be safe. When I woke up, everything was _gone_.”

Coran’s face goes sheet-white and Keith feels a chill slip down his spine, one that makes him shiver so hard his teeth click together.

The memory of his dream comes back to the surface, unbidden. The words hull breech float around in his head and he gulps, trying not to think about it, or about the words the figure was shouting, words that he now recognizes.

_It’ll be all right! We have to go! Hurry!_

Allura shoots a glance over her shoulder at the older Altean and gives him a tight nod as she reaches for Kline’s hand. “Come on, we’ll look together,” she offers, gently.

Shiro lets out a mild noise of protest: one look at his face is enough to know that he isn’t buying Kline’s story for a minute and doesn’t want to leave Allura alone with him.

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him, drawing back to join him. “We’ll stay here. We’ll be right outside.”

This is not something they should watch, he knows that, and when Shiro looks at him, silently asking why, he just shakes his head and mouths _let him grieve in peace_.

Shiro blanches as realization sets in and then he reluctantly nods.

Kline’s ears droop a little as he clenches his jaw, but the glance he sends Keith’s way is grateful.

“Come,” Allura says, beckoning him as she traces her finger on the door panel.

The door silently glides open and they enter.

“Coran?” Shiro asks, hesitantly.

Keith turns his head and nearly startles.

Coran looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Coran, are you okay?” Shiro asks, louder this time.

“The blockade,” Coran croaks out. He bows his head, screwing his eyes shut as he clenches his teeth, and forces his face back into a tightly composed mask. He smiles, mustache twitching. “This is a good thing.”

Shiro and Keith glance at each other out of the corner of their eyes: neither of them is buying the act for a moment.

“And why is that, exactly?” Shiro presses.

Coran draws himself up into his stuffy brass pose and his eyes curve slyly. “We just found Feyulja’s man.”

“What,” Keith deadpans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kline's hairstyle is considered very fashionable, especially on Kohrellja.


	14. Disconnecting

“Hold on, hold on, _what?_ ” Pidge exclaims, giving him the most incredulous look as she puts up a hand, as if to gesture for him to stop.

“That’s what Coran said,” Keith told her, again, “That he’s Feyulja’s man.”

Pidge sputters, turning her head as her jaw opens and closes wordlessly. She raises her arms in a questioning motion and lowers them just as fast. Then, finally, it seems like her words find her and she shouts, “What the _hell_? How can he know that? This guy _literally_ – and Keith, you _believe_ him?”

“Well, yeah,” Keith admits, even if he knows he can’t really totally explain why. “Coran seemed pretty sure.”

“I’m not talking about _Coran_ ,” Pidge fires back. “And how do we know this guy isn’t taking advantage of him? Coran and Allura lost _everything_ , you know?”

Hunk watches the exchange in silent concern, half-perched on the workbench.

Lance, still in his pajamas and face mask, is slumped in the chair. He yawns and blinks blearily, desperately trying not to nod off. In his hands, his mug of Not-Earl-Grey tea teeters dangerously close to spilling all over the floor.

“He _isn’t_ ,” Keith tries to explain, rolling his eyes in frustration. “Kline’s not like that, I _know_ it.”

“Oh my god, Keith,” Pidge says, staring at him in pure and complete incomprehension. She throws out an arm, pointing at the door. “We have _no idea_ who this – this _Kline_ guy is! How can you just- _what is wrong with you?_ ”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with me!” Keith snaps, defensively.

There’s nothing wrong with him. There _isn’t_. It’s not his fault they don’t get it. Even _he_ doesn’t get it, not totally anyway, but he knows he’s _not_ wrong: Kline is not a threat – at least, not to _them_.

“Look, you don’t _get_ it. You weren’t there,” Keith adds, turning away with a huff.

He pauses and, before he can even stop himself, he’s saying exactly what he’s thinking: “You know, maybe we don’t know what’s really going on here. I don’t know, maybe we’re just missing something? Something in the translation, something cultural - I don’t know, whatever it is, but… What do we know – I mean, really know, about this war?”

Pidge sighs heavily, her head swaying with her as she rolls her eyes.

“Am I _wrong_?” Keith asks, with an exaggerated shrug.

“You do have a point,” Hunk agrees. “We don’t even know what set it off.”

 _“Exactly,”_ Keith says, emphatically, throwing up his hands. “That’s what I’m _saying_! Coran said something about a blockade. Maybe we should have another crack at the Archives before we go running off and pointing any fingers.”

“It’s not pointing fingers if it’s _common sense_ , Keith,” Pidge counters acidly.

“Do we really have to have this discussion?” Lance manages wearily, leaning forward.

“Apparently, _yes_ ,” Pidge says, her lip curling in a sneer, “Since I’m the only one who thinks it’s really suspicious that this guy’s creeping around the Castle in the middle of the night and just _happens_ to convince Coran he’s a rebel spy. Nah, there’s nothing suspicious about that _at all_. And, if he’s _really_ a rebel, why didn’t any of the elders tell us before?”

Keith huffs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe they didn’t know if they could trust us?”

Pidge drops her arms down in a single swooping gesture as she shouts, “We’re the _good guys,_ Keith!”

“You know, that’s really kind of subjective,” Hunk observes, immediately earning a glare from Pidge. He puts up his arms defensively, wincing apologetically. “What I mean is, maybe they didn’t know we were for real, you know? They could have thought it was a Galran trick.”

“We’re not the _Galra_ , though,” Pidge says emphatically. “We wouldn’t do that. We’re nothing like them.”

“Yeah, well, these survivors are _part_ Galran, so…” Keith points out to both of them, deliberately trailing off and leaving _where does that leave them_ unsaid.

Pidge makes a frustrated noise, rolling her eyes at him, and clarifies, “That’s not what we meant and you know it. Our _enemy_ is the Galran Empire.”

Lance frowns, his eyes narrowing.

Hunk goes incredibly still, his eyes locking on the Blue Paladin, and that’s all the warning they get before Lance is on his feet and shouting, with the thunder of surf in his voice and the light of Blue in his eyes: “No, Pidge, our enemy is _Zarkon!_ And this? This _war_? Newsflash, it’s called _genocide_! And, guess what, those people on that station? They were _his people_! He did this to _his own damn people!_ Where have _you_ been?”

Pidge stares at him, slack-jawed, and she’s not alone – they’re all staring at him in shock because Lance _never_ goes off like this. Everything he’d said is like a stab to the gut, one that leaves Keith reeling and off-center.

“Am I _really_ the only one who noticed? _Really?_ ” Lance demands, glaring at them each in turn.

No one says anything, far too stunned to respond.

Lance’s lip trembles, his jaw working silently as if he wants to say something else but can’t find the words, and then he suddenly turns away, stomping out of the hanger.

Keith watches him go, uncertain of what to do or even what to say. Helplessly, he looks back to Hunk and Pidge.

Pidge trembles, almost folding in on herself, and then she, too, runs off, in the opposite direction of the doors.

“What just happened?” Keith asks, at last, approaching Hunk.

Hunk opens his mouth and then closes it with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I mean… it’s not like we didn’t _know_ , you know? Just…”

Keith looks down, frowning a little. He suddenly feels queasy.

“No one wanted to say it,” Hunk admits, running a shaky hand through his bangs. “Saying it makes it… more real somehow.”

Keith raises his head, glancing at him, and he wants to tell him that it was real enough for the Alteans and the people of Gunfwe Praexhli, but the words die on his tongue as Hunk speaks again.

“And it’s not like we could talk about it anyway, not with Allura and Coran hanging around, you know?” he adds. “I mean, we _couldn’t_ take away that hope from them.”

Keith swallows hard, glancing away. The unsaid words still taste ashen and bitter on the back of his tongue, but Hunk’s right: Keith has suspected, at least for a while, that this must have been what happened to the Altean people.  But, with both Allura and Coran always near, it’s been impossible to really voice that suspicion for fear of reopening an obviously painful wound for the both of them. Clearly, everyone else has also been struggling with that and, if Keith’s being honest with himself, it’s a pretty messed up position for them to be in. No _wonder_ Lance went off like he did.

Worse, it is not like Keith isn’t aware that he has on some level been trying to convince himself that maybe, _maybe_ , the Alteans had been sent into hiding, like the Lions and the Castle, and were just scattered across the universe, waiting for Voltron to return. It’s the sort of thing that always happens in the movies, after all.

If only, he thinks, if _only_ that were the case _._ The reality is far harsher.

“I’ll talk to Lance,” Keith manages, finally.

Hunk nods, giving him a wan, grateful smile.

Keith turns away, heading for the doors, and palms the controls. They open, silently, and he steps into the hallway.

Lance hasn’t gone far: he’s sitting just outside and to the left of the doors, his back to the wall and his head in his hands.

Keith quietly sits down next to him.

After a moment, Lance mumbles in a creaky, scratchy voice, “Sorry. I just…” He pauses, sniffling loudly, and adds, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I… I miss my family. I want to go home, Keith. I want to go home.”

What do you even say to that, Keith wonders silently. Shiro would probably know. Shiro was always really good at this kind of stuff, whereas Keith just plain sucked at this crap.

“There’s not going to be a home to go back to if we can’t stop Zarkon,” he settles on, at last. It’s something he’s always known, really, from the moment they found out what Blue had brought them into and it’s no less true than it was then. If anything, the stakes are higher than ever.

Lance tilts his head, still cradling it in his hands, and shoots him a glance out of the corner of his eye. “You absolutely _suck_ at this, mullet-brain.”

“Well, bless your heart, Captain Obvious,” Keith fires back.

Lance doesn’t reply. He just sits there, next to Keith, still cradling his head in his hands. Then, after a while, slowly, he raises his head and pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his head on his knees. Finally, he asks, “Keith, what month is it? On Earth, I mean.”

Keith draws in a deep breath, leaning back and looking up towards the ceiling as he struggles to remember. Time has a way of slipping away from you in the black. “I don’t know, April, maybe?”

Lance croaks out a weak chuckle and sags backwards, staring up at the ceiling. “April. _April_. It’s been _that_ long?” he mutters, more to himself than anything. He draws himself back in tight and, after a moment, he quietly says, “They probably think we’re dead, don’t they?”

That’s when Lance finally breaks down and cries.

Keith stares at him, lips parting in both surprise and horror. Where the _hell_ is Shiro when he needs him, he wonders in a blind panic.

After a moment, Lance’s sobs finally peter off into heaving breaths and he pulls his head up. His face mask is hopelessly smeared and no amount of the goop can hide how puffy and red his eyes are. He sniffles as he rubs his face, composing himself, and then looks Keith dead in the eyes. “This never happened,” he says with absolute seriousness.

“Works for me,” Keith says in relief.

In fact, if they _never_ mention this again, it’ll be too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not-Earl-Grey tea is better than Not-Coffee by leaps and bounds. Also, it fights back a lot less.
> 
> Lance continues to be upset and everyone fails their perception check as to why - except Hunk.
> 
> This fic has no ships, except unless they are of the spacefaring kind. Pew pew pew.


	15. Doing Homework

It’s near midmorning, shipboard-time.

Keith lounges at the back of the Archives, awkwardly stuffed on a seat at one of the only functioning smaller side terminals. Pidge is sitting next to him, very reluctantly letting him borrow her laptop so he can actually _read_ the stuff he’s trying to find on this blockade Coran mentioned. But it’s slow going and it’s very hard to stay focused, especially since Allura had extended an open invitation to their passengers to explore the Archives.

“The history of our people is yours. It is your birthright,” she had told the survivors earlier that morning, solemnly. “It has been stolen from you and now it is yours, to do with as you see fit.”

It looks like a handful have decided to take her up on that offer - seven in all, among them a few whom Keith has been introduced to.

It’s very strange, he thinks, to watch them explore the Archives, because it’s both a happy thing and totally heartbreaking, especially when it’s clear that some of them are barely older than Pidge and this is the first time they’ve ever _truly_ been free to do as they wish. There is such awe and reverence on their faces as they move through the room. And yet, it’s obvious that in spite of every overture that’s been made to make them welcome in the Castle, they’re _still_ super wary of the pilots, even _afraid_. The slightest twitch from him or Pidge has their immediate attention as they brace to flee imagined violence to come.

Keith looks back at the laptop and one of the survivors nearly leaps. The movement is so sudden that it startles Keith, too, and he nearly tumbles out of the chair in surprise.

Pidge’s fingers catch his shirt and she gives him a tug, allowing him to right himself. Then, she shoots him a look, raising her eyebrows, and he winces out an unspoken _oops_.

She pushes her glasses up on her nose with one finger and sighs, leaning with both elbows on the terminal’s surface.

Keith grimaces a little in uncertainty and scrolls down a little further on the laptop. Behind it, the terminal screen lags a little, causing the laptop screen to suddenly jump.

Pidge frowns and reaches over, slapping the side of the screen with the palm of her hand. One of the survivors skitters away from them, but the screen stabilizes and doesn’t jump again.

Keith looks at her.

Pidge shrugs.

Keith sighs and then, suddenly, pauses. He looks back at her with wide eyes and points at the screen, mouthing _this is what I was talking about!_

Pidge leans over, adjusts her glasses, and mouths the words that caught his attention: _Princess Romelle, Final Address, Blockade of Pollux, Location: Pollux_. When she turns back, she’s got a look on her face that screams _what are you waiting for, you doofus_!

Keith attempts to toggle the controls for playback to the terminal as Pidge had shown him, but it relies purely on command line codes – something he’s never quite managed to wrap his head around – and all of a sudden the central terminal springs to life.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” he murmurs, unable to find the stop button.

“Keith,” Pidge says. Then, more insistently: “Keith, _look_.”

“How do I shut it off?” he hisses, hitting all the usual buttons – escape, ctrl+q, end.

She makes a frustrated noise, pushing off on the balls of her feet to stand, grabs his head and forcibly turns it in the direction of the central terminal.

He freezes.

In one instant, it seems that he and Pidge suddenly have gained the full and undivided attention of the present survivors.

Or, rather, the recording has.

It plays through once.

No one moves. No one makes a sound. No one _dares_.

The file closes.

“Please, play it again,” one of them calls out; she is Uhwaz, the one with pink slashing marks running from her temples to her chin, like a Druid. She and the others gather around the central terminal, and stare up at the display as if transfixed.

“Please, Kete,” Uhwaz repeats. Her long, tufted ears twitch, one of them swiveling slightly in their direction.

Keith rolls his eyes at the unintentional butchering of his name – she’s _trying_ , after all, but the ‘th’ sound isn’t something that comes naturally to them and the translator won’t _actually_ translate their names like it translates everything else. It seems weird, but, honestly, it explains _loads_ about the weird looks he’s gotten from them, including Fala back on the station.

(“Names shift meanings over time,” Coran had explained, at one point. “Sometimes, you end up with names that are derivative forms of words that no longer exist in actual usage. Absent of that cultural context, they’re impossible to translate. Better just to leave it be. Besides, it gets really confusing when you have societies where lineage is expressed in the name, like the Harbarl. _Absolute_ nightmare! My tongue was tied for ten cycles.”)

 Keith flashes them a quick thumbs up and accesses the file again.

The image of a dark-skinned Altean woman reappears and Keith finds himself drawing a sharp breath at how much she resembles Allura in appearance. Her white hair is coming loose from the severe style she wears it in and in her eyes is a burning, familiar defiance. She is dressed in armor and bears a sword, similar to the one generated by his bayard, in one hand. Flanking her are two beings: a Galran in white robes with the pink slashes of a Druid across their face and a young Altean, wearing the same simple diadem on his head that both she and Allura wear. Behind them and displayed prominently on their clothes, there is a seal with Altean and what looks like Galran symbols.

From the speakers, Romelle’s voice fills the room and, for a moment, Keith forgets that she is long dead, and had, in fact, probably died long before Blue ever came to Earth. Her anger, her horror and her outrage seep into every word, untainted by the passage of thousands of years.

> _I speak to you now, on the eve of this, our darkest hour, not as your sovereign, but as a free citizen of Pollux and the universe. Never before have we faced such certain and absolute danger. Above us, the Oathbreaker’s fleet stands poised to fire. They believe us to be trapped below their solar shield, mere animals ripe for the slaughter. They believe that we shall simply lie down and accept this fate. We rest on the edge of oblivion and we - we shall **not** be silent, we shall not lie down. _
> 
> _We are the proud people of Pollux and we shall **never** lie still and silent when confronted with evil. In their arrogance, the Oathbreaker and his fleet have forgotten who and **what** we are, we, the indomitable people of Pollux! They forget **their** ships were built with **our** hands!_

“She’s beautiful,” a bat-eared male says. He’s called Kawe.

> _My people, brothers and sisters, proud patriots of Pollux, I now call on you. I call on you to rise up as never before, in the name of your children and your ancestors. Rise up! Rise up!_

“She’s just as I imagined,” sighs another, with the purple skin of a Galran and the facial marks of an Altean; their name is Moyvda, or Mo as they prefer.

> _Pollux calls you, my people! Pollux calls you to embrace this last sacred duty! Go now, to the docks and the yards we have built our honor on, and serve us this last time, in this, our bleakest hour._

Pidge fidgets uncomfortably, drumming her fingers on the table. Then, abruptly, she whispers, “I’m sorry, Keith. You were right.”

Keith blinks, looking at her.

“We’re in way over our heads,” she admits, quietly. “I didn’t _think_. Biggest Trekkie on the ship, always joking about Darmok, and I… _forgot_. I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Keith whispers back. “You had some good points. And, besides, you’re only human, Pidge.”

Pidge slumps her shoulders, making a miserable noise that is somewhere between groan and whine. “Yeah, but I should have _known_ better. I’m smarter than this.”

Keith sighs and mentally asks himself what Shiro would do.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he decides on, finally. “We were never trained for any of… _this_.”

He gestures helplessly, sweeping his arm in a wide arc from the laptop to the central terminal. Really, in terms of piloting and engineering and all that, they were _golden_ , but as far as fighting in a war in _space_ in giant mystical robots and dealing with clearly traumatized alien survivors of said war? Yeah, that wasn’t something the Garrison classes covered.

Small wonder everyone's been freaking out lately.

“Besides,” he adds, “It isn’t me you should really be apologizing to.”

Pidge chews on her bottom lip pensively, looking down at the table. Her glasses glint, catching the light. “I know,” she says softly. “I forgot. God, I’m _stupid_.”

Keith gives her a questioning look and she shakes her head, waving it off.

“You’re not stupid,” he tells her, after a moment.

“Yeah, I am,” Pidge admits, crossing her arms and leaning back into her chair. She looks up, sighing heavily as she puts a foot up on the edge of the table and rocks herself back and forth. “We were _crew_ , you know?”

That’s right, Keith recalls: Pidge, Lance and Hunk had all mentioned being on the same crew assignment, back at the beginning. And, in the Garrison, your crew was _everything_. You didn’t have the luxury of secrets or personal space or even mental space sometimes. Your crew became your life. They had to be, because they were who you’d be counting on to keep you alive. There was always a lot of shuffling going on, trying to find people that meshed right and, as he could personally attest, it didn’t always work out too good for everyone. Even before, Keith had held the record for shortest crew assignments two years running (nearly got himself booted for it, too, but they overlooked it – no one, not even Shiro, had his kind of scores in the pilot seat).

Then, of course, Kerberos happened and, well, that was the end of that.

…At least, until _Blue_ happened, that is.

“So, you can’t say I’m not stupid,” Pidge continues, “Not when I _should_ have known.”

“You hacked an alien robot drone, Pidge,” Keith points out, “ _Twice_. And you created software that translates Altean and Galran to English from _scratch_.”

Well, that was stretching it a bit, really, because Coran had definitely helped with the translation software and the program abuses the hell out of the Castle’s data to even function, but it’s the spirit of the matter that’s important, really, at least as far as Keith is concerned. Well, that’s what _Shiro_ is always saying anyway.

He _really_ wishes he didn’t suck so much at this crap.

Pidge is quiet a moment, but she stops rocking back and forth. Then, she pipes up, softly: “I miss Rover.”

“Yeah, me too,” Keith says quietly – success, he thinks to himself.

On the display, Princess Romelle draws back, her eyes rimmed with tears.

> _I will see you all again at the base of Thiamue. May the Great Mother of Lions guide your course._

The display flickers and fades, to cries of dismay and sadness.

Kawe, wiping the tears from his eyes, turns towards them and asks, “Is there more?”

“Um,” Keith hesitates, glancing at the screen.

“There!” Pidge says, pointing at a line of text. How she reads that fast, he’ll never know. “Ugh, Keith, shove over, you’re taking too long!”

“It’s not my fault I can’t read this Matrix crap!” Keith exclaims, gesturing at the laptop screen with both hands.

Pidge stares at him. Slowly, she smiles, as if she’s the cat that just caught the fattest mouse in the barn.

“I meant _Unix_ ,” Keith tells her, but he _knows_ it is already far, far too late.

“Kete, what is the Matrix?” Uhwaz asks, bewildered.

Pidge freezes for a moment, her smile going even wider, and then bursts out laughing, nearly rolling out of her chair.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Keith tells the survivors. “She’s an actual child, god bless her.”

If anything, it just makes the lot of them even _more_ confused.

“Kete?” Uhwaz presses.

“Knock, knock, Neo,” Pidge chortles.

“ _Right_ ,” Keith drawls, deliberately ignoring her. He scans the laptop screen, hovering a finger over the keyboard. “The file… the file which I am playing now… the _file_.”

“The other lever, _Kronk_ ,” Pidge manages, still giggling, and reaches across to make a few keystrokes.

The central terminal lights up and Princess Romelle appears once more, this time with an infinitely more severe look. She is even wearing a spacesuit, though one significantly more austere than Allura’s own, and it looks like she is in a cockpit.

“What did you press?” Keith asks, looking down at the keys in confusion.

Before Pidge can answer, Romelle’s voice again issues through the room, sharp and containing none of the impassioned appeal from the previous file. This time, a military commander speaks to them.

> _This is the Princess Romelle to all forward fighter groups. These are my final orders as your princess. Your primary objective is the shield generators on the Galran Tekkat. Take them out, at all cost. We need that path clear if the transports are to advance._
> 
> _When you have completed your primary objective, regroup at gebre one and take defensive positions for mass portal jump, location scramble high._
> 
> _The path **must** remain clear!_

On the audio, there is a strange breathy hitch, as if someone has just inhaled sharply. It does not match the footage attached – it sounds closer, like audio from a helmet feed.

> _The safety of our greatest treasure now rests in our skilled hands._
> 
> _Now, fly! For Pollux!_

Someone, a ghost from this one memory of Pollux, lets out a loud and clear whooping cry, one that is rapidly joined by others, rippling through the speakers. In the background, it dissolves rapidly into military radio chatter as squads sound off.

Then, it abruptly goes quiet as the screen shuts off.

Pidge has her hand on the keyboard. She looks up at Keith. “They don’t need to see the rest.”

“It’s not our call,” he tells her, and glances at the survivors.

Mo has a hand pressed over their mouth. Kawe is silently crying, his face in his hands, and he is not alone.

Uhwaz alone meets Keith’s gaze. She suddenly bows, placing her right hand over her left breast, and when she raises her head, she is giving him a grateful smile, one that shows no teeth.  Just as suddenly, the other survivors present do the same.

“Vre sa-a, Kete,” she says. “You do us a great honor.”

Keith gives her an odd look. “Is this a Paladin thing?”

Uhwaz glances at the others, who seem bewildered and at a loss for words.

“It is close enough, Kete,” Kline’s voice calls. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “Someone who respects the right of choosing would be such.”

Keith narrows his eyes, bewildered, and shoots a look at Pidge, who merely shrugs and pushes her glasses back up on her nose.

Kline chuckles. “It is better in the original Galran.”

“You should hear Shakespeare in the original Klingon,” Pidge tells him.

Keith groans, rolling his eyes, and Kline laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After meeting the Harbarl, Coran's tongue was _literally_ tied for ten cycles. He had kinks in it for weeks.
> 
> Princess Romelle is a Hardcore Lady and there's a reason she's venerated as a practical divinity. Also, heeeeeey Prince Bandor!
> 
> Keith uses they/their/them for Mo because he has no idea what pronouns Mo prefers - in actuality, Mo's preferred pronouns aren't properly translatable to human equivalents, but xe/xir is pretty close, from an authorial standpoint. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Keith's been through so many different crews, Iverson was on Mace Windu levels of done with his Skywalker ExtraTM.
> 
> Keith continues to fail his perception check. AND THEN THERE'S PIDGE. PIDGE PLEASE.
> 
> Kline was gonna have another line in this chapter, but it was too ExtraTM.
> 
> Also: I haven't watched the new season yet. I am waiting until I finish this fic and it's k i l l i n g me (I have seen spoilers tho - some things I'm integrating, some things I'm not). So yeah. I don't get to watch the new season til I finish this. I guess I gotta finish this. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	16. Discretion

Kline doesn’t talk like a spy.

He doesn’t look like one.

And he certainly doesn’t look like one right _now_ : Keith has never seen anyone go that particular shade of absolute sheet white before. It is a sobering reminder of his alienness and that, Feyulja’s man or not, Kline is a survivor and has seen and experienced things that they don’t even have the slightest clue about.

“No, absolutely not,” Kline says, shaking his head. “We can’t go there. We _can’t_.”

Coran’s mustache twitches and he stands up a little straighter. “It’s a swap moon. It’s risky, but certainly within our ability to handle if we disguise ourselves properly.”

“Mother of Lions,” Kline responds, somehow managing to look even more horrified. “You don’t know. You don’t… _Mother of Lions._ ”

Kline draws back, drawing in a deep breath as he steps away from them, and brings a hand to his face as he leans against the wall with his other hand.

Uhwaz doesn’t touch him but she stays close, whispering lowly in a dialect that doesn’t quite sound _right_ , and gives a worried glance to the other survivors gathered in the common room before turning her gaze to Keith, as if to ask him for something.

Keith stares, a bit put off, and turns his head a little, trying to hide the burning in his cheeks. He doesn’t even know why she’d look to him at all. Maybe it’s a Paladin thing. Or maybe it’s something he’d said earlier, when they were in the Archives, because practically the whole team is here and every one of them _except_ Coran is a Paladin, but Uhwaz is only looking at him.

Come to think of it, so are the other survivors, which is super weird.

“Coran, when’s the last time you were there?” Pidge asks, pushing up her glasses on her nose as she destroys the awkward silence, “Out of curiosity.”

Coran goes absolutely still as it hits him and nearby, Shiro draws in a deep breath, rolling his eyes.

“I thought so,” Pidge says, sighing as she also rolls her eyes.

Hunk frowns a little, rubbing his chin. “A lot can change in ten thousand years – orbital paths, system composition, gravitational drift…”

“Baltarus Hyperlane Moon Center,” Kline manages, shakily. He raises his head, tracing a circle with one hand. “That’s… It’s one of a chain of super shopping centers that sprung up as the Empire expanded the universal hyperlanes.”

Lance’s jaw drops as he exchanges a look with Hunk, Pidge and Keith.

“A shopping mall,” Shiro states, blinking slowly, as if he’s not quite sure how to process that. “In space. Okay.”

“I’m honestly not sure why I’m surprised anymore,” Pidge admits. “Why _wouldn’t_ there be space malls?”

“Space malls or Space _balls_?” Lance quips slyly, nudging Hunk with an elbow.

Hunk tries to hide his laugh, he really does. He also fails _miserably_.

Shiro gives them an exhausted look, one of his infamous silent _knock it off_ looks.

“It’s not funny,” Kline states, glaring at them. “There’s only one way a ship this big can get access and that’s through the cargo lanes. We go through the cargo lanes, we go through quarantine; we go through quarantine, we get _caught_. That’s how they got me and _quiznaki_ no way I’m doing that again! Not with my people on board!”

Kline then sharply nods his head, making a disgusted half-snort noise and baring his teeth. They look a lot sharper than they had earlier, or maybe Keith just hadn’t noticed. It’s not like Kline or any of the survivors preferred to show them unless it was strictly necessary.

Coran, who had been about to say something, closes his mouth instead and nods, quietly and carefully raising his hands in a gesture that is meant to be calming.  “You don’t have to go with us,” he explains gently. “The Paladins are more than capable of taking a few shuttles and sneaking in there. I trust them.”

Kline’s lip curls in a sneer and his eyes dart to Keith for a moment. “No. There are safer places to get what we need. I will take you.”

Lance tilts his head, blinking, and looks at Pidge. “Is it just me or did that sound weird?” he whispers.

“Dialect, maybe?” Pidge offers under her breath.

“Okay, safer is good. I’m all for safer,” Shiro announces, crossing his arms, “Considering we probably have our mug shots plastered all over the known universe by now. So, you obviously seem to have an idea of where to look. Care to share with us? Because I’m not taking my team anywhere I don’t think is safe, either.”

Kline and Shiro glare at each other for a moment and Keith can feel his heart beating in his throat as everything goes dead silent.

No one moves.

Then, Kline nods, doing one of those weird smiles and offers his hand to Shiro, palm up and open.

Shiro pauses, uncertain of what to do, and Coran discreetly nudges him in the ribs, silently indicating that he should do the same. He does and the tension seems to bleed out of the room as everyone relaxes a bit.

It doesn’t escape Keith’s notice that all the survivors follow Kline’s lead and, judging from the way everyone else discreetly shifts on their feet, none of his fellow Paladins missed it either. Honestly, he is still amazed they never saw it earlier, but, then again, they were not _looking_ for it.

“When they converted the old swap moons for the hyperlanes, a lot of _business_ shifted elsewhere,” Kline explains, “Out to the frontier or uncharted systems.”

“You’re talking about _smuggling_ ,” Coran states, dryly. Clearly, he does not approve.

“I call it _surviving_ ,” Kline fires back, just as dryly. “Our best shot is Beswu. It’s a trading post just on the frontier border and it’s a little more…”

Kline pauses, tilting his head side to side as he searches for the right words. “Let’s just say, there’s no one there that’d turn us in, if we’re discreet about it and you don’t go walking around, showing off that armor.”

“You’re sure about that?” Hunk asks, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. “Cause we’ve had some bad luck with unsavory sorts before and you’re talking about walking into a whole den of them.”

Kline gives him an evaluating look and then smirks: “You, I like you.”

“Thanks, I think,” Hunk replies, raising an eyebrow in uncertainty.

“Well, it can’t be any worse than Mos Eisley,” Pidge quips.

Kline, Coran, and the survivors all give her a questioning look, while Shiro merely looks like he’s trying so hard to pretend Pidge hadn’t just said that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a place by that name,” Kline says. He looks about as lost as Keith feels, since this is clearly one of those jokes he just doesn’t _get_. “Where – what is it?”

“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy,” Lance says, sagely. “We must be cautious.”

“Can you _not_?” Shiro asks, giving them both a tired look. “For five minutes, please?”

“I believe you will find that I cannot just _not_ ,” Lance replies, grinning ear to ear as he raises a finger and points at Shiro. “Let’s be real, Shiro. When am I _ever_ going to have an opportunity like this again? The answer is _never_.”

Keith covers his face with a hand and tries not to die of secondhand embarrassment.

Pidge, however, merely shrugs. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

Coran’s mustache twitches, although if it is in amusement or bewilderment it’s hard to say, and he straightens up into that all-too-familiar stuffy-brass pose he’s so fond of. “Well, Beswu it is, then. Paladins, if you wouldn’t mind, inform the Princess of our change in destination. She’s in the training room. I’ll be escorting our guests to Command to input the new coordinates.”

For a moment, no one present seems to know quite what to make of that, but then Shiro nods, smiling a little as he agrees to do so aloud, and Kline relaxes minutely, every one of the survivors following suit. Then, Kline, as if noticing Keith was watching, nods at him and smiles that odd smile again.

As they part, Keith looks back over his shoulder.

What exactly was that about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kline was smuggling a kaltenecker through quarantine when he got nicked.
> 
> True story.
> 
> Meanwhile, _Lance_... Lance who cannot resist. Lance who realized there was a Spaceballs joke lurking. He saw it, he went for it. Lance. Oh Lance. You are the realest.
> 
> In other news, the translators are still a bit wonky.


	17. Allura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU LOVE TEARS.

“Are we really doing this?” Hunk asks, as soon as they’re well out of potential earshot – which is at least one deck down and three corridors away from the common room, if they want to be _absolutely_ sure.

Shiro nods, pursing his lips before finally drawing out a less-than-comforting: “Yep.”

“Oh good, I just wanted to be sure,” Hunk says, gesturing with both hands. “Because trusting pirates worked out _so well_ last time.”

“We know,” Keith states dryly, not willing to revisit that subject again.

Hunk hadn’t stopped telling them _I told you so_ for _days_ and he clearly still isn’t done.

“Technically, he’s a smuggler,” Lance points out.

“And a _spy_ ,” Pidge adds. “Possibly a _terrorist,_ even.”

Keith snorts, trying to cover a laugh. “Yeah, and to the Empire, so are we.”

“You know,” Hunk starts and then pauses, frowning. “Oh. Well, I guess that… makes sense. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is a _bad idea_.”

“Do you have a _bad feeling_ about it?” Lance asks, waggling his eyebrows. “You know what they say about that.”

“ _That’s no moon_?” Pidge smirks.

Shiro just shakes his head, rolling his eyes as Hunk sputters and both Lance and Pidge laugh. “You really need to stop with the _Star Wars_ jokes.”

“Is that what that’s from?” Keith says without really thinking about it. “Huh.”

Pidge, Hunk, and Lance, however, stop short, nearly slamming into each other, and all look at him.

“What?” Keith asks.

“Is it possible?” Pidge asks, pushing up her glasses on her nose as she stares at him.

Lance narrows his eyes. “No, it _can’t be_.”

Hunk lets out a horrified gasp. “I think it _is_.”

The three of them then scream and tightly cling to each other. “Keith _hasn’t_ seen _Star Wars_!”

Shiro covers his face with a hand and sighs _very_ deeply.

“I don’t think so?” Keith manages and the three of them let out another horrified round of gasps. “I mean, I had amnesia when I was little, so maybe I did and I just… don’t remember it? It’s not a big deal, really. Lots of people haven't seen it.”

Lance and Pidge shriek and exchange twin glances of horror.

“This is an _emergency_ ,” Pidge declares.

“Oh yes,” Lance agrees and grabs Keith by the arms. “Don’t worry, little buddy! It’s gonna be _okay!_ ”

“Are you serious right now?” Keith demands, giving him a bewildered look as he wriggles free. “It’s just a movie, right?”

Hunk actually screams – _really_ screams.

Lance looks at Pidge, then at Shiro and says very seriously: “I’m going to need an old priest and a young priest.”

Shiro takes a deep breath and carefully maneuvers himself between Keith and the others. “That’s enough.”

The tone he uses makes it perfectly clear that Shiro expects the subject dropped _right now_ and that he will be very unhappy if someone decides to test him on that.

Keith twitches and hangs back a little behind Shiro as they get moving again, trying to hide from that old horrible feeling that he’s an idiot for not knowing the things that are obvious to everyone else – like that _Star Wars_ is, apparently, _serious_ business. The reality is that he could have been a lot worse off than losing memories most people usually grew out of anyway.

Finally, they reach the training room and Shiro palms the door switch.

Allura is waiting for them inside.

She looks awful.

“Are you okay?” Pidge asks, running up to her.

Allura gives Pidge a wan smile and hugs her. “I’m… fine. I’m fine.”

She’s definitely _not_ fine and everyone knows it, but if that’s what she wants to say, then Keith supposes that’s _fine_ , too.

“I’m glad you came,” Allura says, smiling, and gestures for them to join her in the center of the room, where she’s set up some chairs. “Please, sit.”

Reluctantly, Keith follows everyone to their seats and sits down. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” Allura says, closing her eyes. She opens them again and smiles a little. “I’m just tired, I suppose. The past few days have been taxing.”

Lance’s brow furrows and Pidge narrows her eyes a little, her eyes flicking from Hunk to Keith in confusion. They haven’t really _seen_ her much at all since they got back from Gunfwe Praexhli. In fact, Keith can count on one hand the amount of times she’s appeared since then and still have fingers left to spare.

“We’re changing course,” Shiro tells her, without preamble. “Kline has suggested we go to Beswe.”

“Beswu,” Pidge corrects him.

Shiro inclines his head towards her to show that he heard.

Allura nods slowly, as if considering. “That’s… good. That’s very good. Coran is seeing to it, I suppose?”

“Yes,” Shiro answers.

There’s a moment of awkward silence and then Hunk makes a frustrated noise, sitting up. “Okay, I’m trying to be understanding here, cause I know there’s stuff _we_ don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about it and I’m really concerned – can you tell us _why_ we’re trusting this Kline guy again?”

It all comes out of him in a rush that leaves everyone blinking, especially Allura.

“He is Feyulja’s man,” she states slowly.

“Yeah, but _how do you know that?_ ” Hunk asks.

Allura blinks again, looking at him as if she is just really seeing him, and then she looks at all of them. “It was obvious. I thought you all knew.”

“Um, nope, I’m pretty sure we’re in the dark on this one,” Pidge says.

Allura frowns a little as she leans back in her chair and purses her lips, pressing them to her fingertips. “Tell me, what do you think the Elders said to us about Feyulja’s man on Gunfwe Praexhli?”

“Um,” Keith flounders, looking at his fellow Paladins.

Lance winces, shrugging a little, Hunk shakes his head, and Shiro looks a bit put on the spot.

“He is as we are,” Pidge replies, carefully. “And that he isn’t – no, his _face_ isn’t known to them?”

Allura blinks in surprise, sputtering as she sits up. “Oh, oh _no_. That’s not… Your language has no words for a group of people within a group?”

“An exclusion?” Pidge practically sits up. “Altean has _exclusions_! Oh, _that’s_ why… That makes _so_ much more sense.”

“A what now?” Lance asks.

“The Elders didn’t mean all of us,” Shiro explains. “They just meant Allura and Coran.”

Allura nods, smiling thinly. “Yes, that’s right. But, more specifically, they were telling us, as discreetly as they could, that this operative shifts their shape in the _Altean_ manner. And that means they’re of direct Altean descent, either from Altea or Pollux.”

She pauses, pressing her hands together, and closes her eyes. “That’s where we think Kline is from. The fact that he was kid, the evacuation, the cryopod – everything fits with the Blockade. It’s… it’s what they did. And there were so many ships that didn’t make it through all the jumps to Altea. There were just so many… We’d find them, every now and again – ships, whole ships of the dead, with their children still sleeping, safe in cryo. And we couldn’t tell them… we _couldn’t_ …”

Allura is shaking now, her head sinking into her hands, and she is suddenly folding in on herself, crumbling into silent sobs.

Keith exchanges a look with his fellow Paladins, who are just as stunned and horrified as he is.

And yet, already, Shiro is rising from his seat, approaching Allura. He kneels and, with his left hand, he very gently reaches out to hold her shoulder. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” he murmurs softly.

“No, it’s not,” Allura bites out and suddenly, in a weird, too-fluid movement that sends the willies down Keith’s spine and knocks Shiro clear on his ass, she is on her feet, eyes flashing in rage and pain as she roars, “It’s not! And it _never_ will be again!”

She towers over them all easily, eyes and markings glowing like embers, and her hair moves of its own accord, writhing and bristling in a way that suggests it’s not hair at all, but a weapon. Then, as if she realizes where she is and who they are, the light in her eyes dims and she shrinks back into herself – or, at least, what they have always considered her normal shape.

Keith doesn’t know when he grabbed his knife, but he’s still reluctant to let it go. His heart won’t stop pounding in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Allura says, quietly. “I should not have lost my temper like that. I’m afraid… I’m not doing as well as I would have you believe.”

“Really?” Pidge asks, sarcastically. “You think?”

“Pidge,” Shiro admonishes her, as he gets to his feet.

“This is _not easy_ for me,” Allura grounds out, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “My people are dead. My world is gone. And these people, these survivors… You don’t understand what it’s like. They are my people, but they are also _Galran_ and I can’t, I _can’t_ …”

She trails off, pressing a shaking hand over her eyes, and they can see the tears on her cheeks. “I hate them… for being what they are and not more Altean. And I hate _myself_ for hating them because they cannot be anything other than what they are. Don’t you see? That’s why I can’t… I’m – I’m afraid I’ll lose my temper and they haven’t _done_ anything, they haven’t. They aren’t the ones who did this to us! I-I _can’t_ do this. I _can’t_.”

Silence falls.

“I think you can,” Lance speaks up, suddenly. He draws himself up to his full height and holds his head up high as he approaches her, while he fishes around for something under his shirt collar. It’s a necklace, with a simple pendant: a six-pointed star, formed from two interlocking gold triangles. “This is a symbol from our world. It’s from my people, specifically, and we, like you and Coran and everyone on that station, we _survived_ genocide. We survived.”

Lance pauses and looks her straight in the face, his eyes misty as he sniffs and adds: “You survived. _They_ survived. And as long as your culture survives, even in part, Zarkon hasn’t won. Not yet. So you can do this. You can. I know you can.”

His lower lip trembles as he goes silent and then Allura glides forward abruptly. She pulls him into a fierce hug, her face screwing up as she nods, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I survived,” she says.

“Yes, you did,” Lance agrees. “That’s the easy part. Now, you have to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let Shiro rest. Let him rest.
> 
> Keith underestimates the power of the Star Wars. He has no idea. The poor baby. Fortunately, Pidge is Prepared For This.
> 
> And oh, yeah, so if you were wondering where Allura was and why she was basically not around a lot: WELL YEAH THIS IS WHY. Say hello to unprocessed trauma, survivor guilt, probable PTSD, oh yeah and super complicated feelings about having people who are part Galran but also hella Altean right in front of her nose. She is Not Okay. She is so very Not Okay.
> 
> Also, if you haven't figured it out by now, yes, Lance is explicitly Jewish for the purposes of this fic. This is why he's reacting the way he has been to everything about the situation with Gunfwe.


End file.
